To Stop a Killer
by Epicocity
Summary: AU. "This is the end of the road we've walked together." Sixteen years have passed since TO FIND A KILLER and Roy Mustang has achieved his dream of becoming commissioner. But in the quietude that has come with that, evil has been stirring behind the scenes and now Roy is forced into one final game with a difficult choice to make: his job, or the Elric family.
1. Chapter 1

**This is the first chapter of TO STOP A KILLER. I worked very hard on it, so I hope you enjoy it.**

 **Author: Epicocity**

 **Rating: T for violence and language**

 **Pairings: Edwin, Royai, HavBec, Ross/Brosh and maybe more**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Fullmetal Alchemist. Hiromu Arakawa does.**

* * *

 **TO STOP A KILLER**

 _ **Final Book of The Vengeance Series**_

Chapter 1

"Commissioner Mustang, the senator will see you now."

"Thank you, Gloria," the charcoal haired commissioner answered. Fifty-year old Roy Mustang bent down to grab his briefcase, the object acting more as a prop than containing any important information. He then stood and followed the senator's secretary. Sixteen years had been kind to Roy. His hair was still a rich black (though he'd begun to notice some flecks of gray) and he was still very much in shape. The only thing about him that showed his age was, perhaps, the bags under his eyes from the long nights of doing paperwork. In particular, most of the paperwork he'd had to deal with lately had to do with the passing of the STONE bill, which was the reason he was visiting the senator who'd spearheaded it.

"Senator Ather, he's here," Roy heard the senator's secretary, Gloria, say quietly. Mustang instantly arranged his face into one that was all business as the secretary stepped aside to let him enter.

"Commissioner Mustang," spoke the senator with an authoritative voice, "I was wondering when you'd find the time to come and speak with me."

"Then I'd assume you know why I'm here," he replied, seating himself in the chair opposite Ather, getting a good look at him.

Senator Frederick Ather was, for all intents and purposes, like a very political version of him. At only thirty-two, the man had been elected as senator for the East City region of Amestris, around the same time that Roy himself had become chief of police at the Central City PD. He quickly became well-known as an ambitious politician who, by his fourth year in office was elected to be the chair of the Committee for the Defense of Amestris. Just two years ago, he'd been re-elected and had since caused Mustang no end of grief.

"You're here about the Safety and Tactical Operations for New Enforcement bill," Ather replied, running a hand through his blond hair. Mustang scowled at both the man's insight and his looks; both of them reminded him of someone he didn't care to think about.

"In a way," Mustang responded in kind. "I'm really just here about a particular part of your baby bill."

"I think I can guess which."

"Then it saves us some time," Mustang replied coldly. Ather looked unfazed and simply continued to watch the commissioner over the tips of his interlocked fingers. "In the bill, you slashed the funds to my department."

"With good reason," Ather answered calmly.

"There's always a good reason with you politicians; but me and my department can't do our jobs if you continue to cut our funding," Mustang argued. Ather said nothing, so he continued on. "Look, Ather, this is the third bill you've passed in the last two years that has taken the funds from the police and diverted it to something else. I understand that you politicians here in Central could hardly care about the lives you trample over, but I can't help my people do their jobs of keeping the streets safe if we don't have the money to operate in a certain capacity."

"Are you going to appeal to my emotional side next, commissioner?" Mustang grew indignant at the question, patronizing tone and all, but his few years of being commissioner had more than taught him to lock those feelings down.

"Somehow, I very much doubt that you have much of an emotional side to appeal to," Roy stated crossly. "I could bore you with some sob story about parents and their children, but the simple fact is that me and my people keep you safe, and if we don't, you may very well be the next one to bite a bullet. Tell me where your STONE bill saves you there?"

Ather stood from his chair at the question and turned his back to Mustang in seeming contemplation. Roy very much doubted that he had to contemplate anything. The commissioner's eyes surveyed the room, noting how devoid of any personality it was. His eyes flicked back to the senator just in time. "You strike me as an intelligent man, commissioner. One who has had to make difficult choices, yes?"

"A few, I guess," he told the senator.

"Then you'll understand my choices," he said sternly, turning around to face Mustang with a deeply creased frown. "This country, our country, is surrounded by nations with vast military strength. I view them as threats, especially in recent years with an increase in arms. STONE is not an attempt to make us weaker at home, but rather to strengthen our intelligence assets abroad. Congress understands this threat in a way that you do not."

"All things considered, that sounds like shit," Mustang replied. "It's empty rhetoric from someone who's never had to-" Roy's planned tirade was suddenly cut off by the sound of his phone ringing. He briefly scowled but held up a finger. Ather remained patient while he answered it. "I hope this is important."

"Would I call if it wasn't, sir?" spoke the cool voice of Hawkeye over the phone. Mustang stood and retreated to a corner of the room while he waited for Hawkeye to fill him in on why she was calling him. "There's been a robbery at the Bank of Amestria, Central Branch. A teller was killed and there are at least twenty people being held hostage, including Senator Lowe."

"Well, shit," Mustang breathed. This kind of situation warranted media presence, and also meant that he'd have to get down there before it all exploded in his face. "All right, hold the fort until I can get there."

"Very well, sir," she responded crisply before hanging up the phone. Mustang sighed and turned back to the senator he had been attempting to deal with.

"I'm afraid I have to cut this meeting short," he said with a fake smile plastered on at the end. "There's some urgent business I need to attend to, but I'd hope we can resolve this matter soon."

"Of course," Ather stated. Neither man offered a hand to the other, just their smiles. Mustang nodded and turned to depart from the room. "Tell you what, Mustang, instead of having a one-on-one, why don't you speak before the senate. After all, they're the ones you need to convince, aren't they?"

"I'll think on it," he answered before he opened the door from the office.

"I'll tell them to pencil you in!" Mustang snapped the door shut to cut him off.

 _Prick…_ he thought to himself as he swept from the Capitol building. He never liked working with politicians, even in his position. In particular, he didn't trust any of them. It was more like he _couldn't_ trust any of them; not after what happened sixteen years ago. Not after the lie he'd so quietly covered up all those years ago. Roy shook his head to get rid of the oppressive thoughts and instead focused on where he was going.

Sixteen years had changed the landscape of the country's power structure. New presidents had come and gone, Congress had changed, and the police department had finally managed to clean out all the filth in its ranks. A large part of that had to do with Mustang and his team's efforts, but former commissioner Grumman had also been essential until age and a shifting public opinion put Mustang into the role. Since then, he'd rubbed elbows with some of the most powerful members of the government, including Senator Logue Lowe, the former mayor of Ishval who was now a close friend. At least, he was as a close to a "friend" as someone like himself could have. Even with all that, Roy still couldn't stand Frederick Ather.

Right now wasn't the time to give that man any focus, though. Not with the bank approaching swiftly with the numerous police cars and tactical trucks outside. He parked his car as surreptitiously as he could and slipped out to join the team before any of the media had arrived. It wasn't hard to catch the stoic bearing of Central PDs Chief Riza Hawkeye. She caught sight of him as well and easily waved him over. Mustang noticed that she was surrounded by the others from what used to be called Team Mustang. Her head turned briefly to the side, obviously catching a glimpse of him since she waved him over.

"What do we have?" he asked, his tone shifting to business in a matter of seconds.

"Feury's managed to hack into the cameras inside the bank, but we're obviously dealing with professionals. We can't even really confirm the hostage count or the number of robbers. I just gave a rough estimate earlier," Hawkeye responded promptly. He looked to her in disgruntlement, yet couldn't help notice that she wasn't wearing her earrings today like she usually did. This case was obviously serious.

Riza Hawkeye had changed relatively little over the sixteen years, other than growing older like the rest of them. Since he had become commissioner, and because Hawkeye insisted on having his back, he had promoted her to the station of chief at Central. It was really a no-brainer. The woman was a warrior in her own right and she easily garnered respect in her command amongst everyone. Mustang wasn't sure if cutting her hair shorter helped, but at the very least it made her look like she was in a position of greater authority; just like the woman she seemed to be talking about.

"Captain Ross is currently meeting with the tactical team," she told him, folding her arms across her chest. Mustang nodded as he looked up at the imposing bank building. He hated hostage situations.

"How are we sure that Senator Lowe is in the building?" he asked.

"Called his office, chief," said the voice of Jean Havoc, who was leaning against a truck with a cigarette. Mustang frowned at him and he immediately removed it from his mouth with a growl. The man's vice had gotten worse since his divorce. "Witnesses said he was seen entering the bank about five minutes before the commotion started inside. Then we managed to talk to his driver and confirmed it with his office."

"So, we have no line of connection to the inside," Mustang said, his eyes briefly flitting over to the senator's driver. The man was fidgeting back and forth in front of his car, so the commissioner ignored him. Havoc let out a puff of smoke as a response before finally putting his cigarette out. It was obvious he had only really done so because of the captain approaching.

"Commissioner, I wasn't expecting you here," Captain Maria Ross said with a minor salute. Mustang gave her a swift nod to remove the edge from their conversation. Ross relaxed a little and ran a hand through her black hair while Mustang's continual stare urged his Captain of Robbery to go on with whatever news she had. She cleared her throat immediately. "Right, we have a vague number of hostages inside, estimated at about twenty or so since we were able to confirm with upper management that about seven people are on staff and we can estimate customers by the number of cars."

"Has a call inside been successful?" Mustang asked. His gaze flicked over to the bank building, its stone walls a practical fortress with no obvious lines of sight inside.

"We've put in a couple calls, but they haven't picked them up," Ross answered, her lips a thin line that accented her mole slightly. "Whoever these guys are, they're professionals and they have no plans to negotiate."

"Well, that gives us a window, at least," called a voice. Mustang turned to see Heymans Breda, bedecked in tactical gear, walking over. "If they were just some random bank robbers, they could randomly kill a hostage out of desperation. Seeing as they're professional, though, we may have a small window in which to act."

"Doesn't matter," Mustang dismissed casually. "If you have a plan and the tactical team is ready, I suggest you move in as quickly as possible. Let's not lose a single hostage and I want those robbers taken alive. If they are professional, they might be working for someone. I'd want to know who."

"Even if they're not," Hawkeye continued the train of thought, "it'd behoove us to know why they'd want to break into a highly secured bank like the Bank of Amestria in broad daylight, especially with a senator in the building."

"Those are good questions," Havoc commented. Mustang answered with a dirty glare.

"Go help out Feury," Mustang snapped at the blond. Havoc didn't argue.

"Is the team ready, Detective Breda?" Ross asked of the burly man. Breda nodded curtly.

"Just waiting for your command, sir. I'm personally leading the team in myself," he responded with a straight posture that belied his confident manner. Mustang slapped him on the back.

"No one better," he told him. That sort of acknowledgement seemed to be the signal for both Breda and Ross to move off and start preparing the team. This left Mustang alone with Hawkeye.

"I hate hostage situations. Sets my teeth on edge," the commissioner admitted.

"I know you do, sir," Hawkeye chortled out in amusement. "We all do. Speaking of unpleasant situations, I hear there will be some familiar faces at the wedding this weekend."

"Don't remind me," Roy said with a scowl, his lower lip twitching slightly. "I've got enough on my plate to deal with before I can even _begin_ to think about this weekend. And you're not even going anyway!"

"That's-" Before Riza could get the words out, both of them once more caught sight of Havoc running towards them, looking more than flustered. Mustang's eyes narrowed; something had gone wrong. "Detective Havoc, what's going on?"

"Activity on the camera," Havoc answered. "Something's going on inside, but hell if we know what it is." Mustang was on the move before Havoc had finished his sentence, quickly approaching the black van with its back doors open. The commissioner leapt upward into the van and in seconds was leaning over the shoulder of his ever-reliable tech specialist Kain Feury.

"I'm trying to bring the feed back up, sir," Feury announced. Mustang scrutinized the cameras himself. They seemed to be glitching in and out. He had never been as tech-savvy as Feury, but he knew enough to say the cameras were definitely malfunctioning. In between the bursts of static, there seemed to be a thick haze in the building. "You're seeing some sort of tear gas, but it's not from our guys. That hit the room and I sent Detective Havoc to tell you. Then the cameras started glitching. I don't think anyone's countering my hack so there must be something manually interf-"

"Captain Ross, move in now!" barked Hawkeye, effectively silencing her subordinate. As soon as she delivered her order, she grabbed her gun from its holster. Mustang almost rolled his eyes, but followed her own example by grabbing his weapon. "Kain, keep an eye on those cameras and let me know if anything changes."

"Yes, sir." Mustang patted Feury on the shoulder like he had Breda and followed his other subordinates out of the van. Immediately, he noticed the smoke pouring from the front door of the bank as officers from the tactical team streamed in. The breach had begun. Mustang trailed right after Hawkeye and took position next to her and Havoc just outside the front door, all three of them raising their guns just in case.

"What is going on in there?" Havoc breathed, his hand twitching slightly on his gun. Mustang said nothing and continued to watch the entrance. Moments later, members of the tactical team came pouring out of the smoke, each one of them bringing a hostage out. The commissioner noticed Senator Lowe among the lot that were being pulled over to the ambulances. The rescue had obviously been a success, but they were still at a loss to explain what had gone down in the bank.

The commissioner decided that the easiest way to get answers was to speak with someone who was there. He moved to speak to Senator Lowe just as both Hawkeye and Havoc put their hands to their ears, obviously listening to something on the other side of the radio. Hawkeye was the first to speak. "Sir, it would appear that Breda needs us to see something inside."

Mustang's scowl deepened; that was never a good thing. Still, he knew he'd have to see what Breda wanted him to see, so he stepped forward towards the bank, his ever faithful subordinates behind him as they cleared the threshold of the building. Inside, the gas and smoke seemed to be clearing, which made it easy to navigate the entranceway and into the main lobby. Some of the tactical team were still in the area, huddled around two figures on the ground. None of them were Breda, though, so Mustang pushed further into the bank until he reached the safety deposit box room where Breda was. He wasn't alone.

"Four guys, all dead," Breda announced solemnly. "One of them's in the lobby, but this guy was practically shot in the face. It's not a pretty sight."

"They were after the safety deposit boxes? What for?" Hawkeye questioned. She was squatting, having stowed her gun away, and was peering over the tossed contents of the safety deposit boxes.

"No idea yet," Breda admitted. "There's about twenty or thirty boxes that were broken into, so it'll take a while to get through everything. They also hit the vault, but were killed before they could haul any of the cash off. That's not the reason I called you in here, though."

Breda's statement commanded the commissioner's attention and he turned he head to the beefier man. Said man held out a card, one side of it bloodied, no doubt thanks to the unrecognizable face. Mustang's lips tightened. He didn't even need a closer look to confirm what it was. Havoc didn't need it either because he was swearing loudly. Still, Mustang took the card and stared at the symbol on the front: an eye placed within a diagram of the country. It's meaning was hardly subtle.

"Truth…Damn bastard," Mustang expressed with distaste.

"He really likes showing off, doesn't he?" Havoc asked, his own face twisted into a scowl. "Who does he think he is?" Mustang sighed in response. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the forensic techs moving in and he held the card out to one of them, who bagged it. The card wouldn't get them anywhere, but it was at least worth the attempt.

"What he likes doing is getting in our way," Mustang answered his subordinate. "Normally, I'd consider a vigilante a small problem, even if the department looks bad, but now he's killing people. This is something I won't stand for, no matter what he is to the public eye."

"Well," Hawkeye commented as she stood, her eyes still on the safety deposit boxes, "at least we have come new leads, slight though it may be. Dead bodies can sometimes leave more trails than live ones."

"How true," Mustang responded, turning away from the others. "I want this guy caught. No more taking this vigilante crap lightly. I want to know everything about Truth: who he is, how he knows things, where he gets his toys, his friends, his family. Most of all, though, I want his head on a fucking platter."

"This guy's got you fired up, huh, chief?" Havoc scoffed out, his tone betraying that he was actually a little frightened of the commissioner. "I haven't seen you this pissed at a guy since the terrorist who shot you."

"I thought we agreed not to talk about that case, Havoc," Mustang said warningly. Havoc laughed sheepishly. "That said, I'm not about to let the department be ridiculed like it has the last couple months. This is the final nail in Truth's coffin. It ends now."

"Leave it to us, sir," Hawkeye stated. "Breda, was the team able to gather any more intel?"

"Look, I'm great at observing things, but I'm not a miracle worker, chief," Breda answered. "I've been in here almost the whole time."

"I was just asking, Heymans," Hawkeye told him affectionately. "Sir, I'm thinking I'll call Armstrong in on this one. It _has_ turned into a homicide, after all, and he _is_ captain."

"No problem. Keep me apprised," Mustang told her as he moved to leave the room. Havoc jerked in his direction at the movement.

"Whoa, whoa, boss. You're not sticking around? This kind of case can always use extra hands," Havoc said, almost pleading with his boss. Mustang briefly turned to him and eyed Havoc with amusement.

"You realize that I have actual work that needs doing?" he asked.

"Never stopped you from working on cases instead of paperwork before."

"Yes, but in this case, 'work' means I have to go to meetings," Mustang explained. "What's going on Havoc? You never cared so much before."

"Sorry, it's just…Becca wants me to take the kids the rest of the week, and I need to pick them up today, so…"

Mustang sighed. Sometimes he hated being reminded of the fact that other people had families while he had chosen a different route. "Pick up your kids, Jean, but I still want you on deck for this case. I don't care if you have to hire a nanny to do it. I need you here."

"You got it, chief," Mustang flashed a brief smile and left the room. If there was one thing he'd been known for as commissioner, it was the lengths he went to in order to care of his subordinates. Some had even taken to calling him by the nicknames "The Compassionate Commissioner" or "Merciful Mustang". They sounded cheesy, but if it meant he was a better commissioner than King Bradley had been, he was all for it.

"Commissioner! Sir!" yelled a young voice and Mustang turned to see an energetic and young forensic specialist approaching. If anything, he looked to be in his late twenties and seemed to have just gotten his training wheels off. The young brunet looked impressionable and amiable; two things that the previous specialist he knew hadn't been. Mustang watched the young man as he finished approaching, and waited for the information the man was sure to give. "We found the perpetrator's entry point."

"By perpetrator, I'd assume you mean Truth?"

"Yes, sir," the specialist answered swiftly, like he couldn't get it out fast enough. "There are old tunnels underneath the bank. They don't lead inside, but it was how he slipped past your perimeter and got to the back door that they use for cash deliveries. After that, he broke in and-"

Mustang held up a sudden hand to stop the young man from speaking. "This is all well and good, but shouldn't you be giving this information to Chief Hawkeye?"

"Oh…o-of course, s-sir." Mustang nodded, adding a smile to assure the young man that he'd done no harm before taking his leave of him. The bank continued to bustle with police activity as pictures were taken and certain areas were roped off. The commissioner frowned until he stepped outside. The coroner's assistant moved past him and Mustang looked to see Senator Logue Lowe against his car, visibly shaken but holding strong. He also saw Mustang.

"Roy!" he shouted over the activity. The commissioner made his way over.

"How are you holding up, senator?" Mustang asked from a place of true concern. Senator Lowe was one of the few politicians that didn't act as a greedy charlatan. It probably had to do with being mayor of Ishval for years.

"Too much excitement for me," Lowe joked. "So, I heard you had a meeting with Ather this morning. How'd that go?"

"As well as you'd expect. The man's like an emotionless stone. I'd have gotten further with his physical office itself. Then this mess happened and I had to cut the meeting short."

"Sorry," Lowe apologized sheepishly, though it was nowhere near his fault. "Well, I wouldn't feel too bad about Ather. You're not the only one opposing that ridiculous STONE bill. Honestly, defenses abroad won't stop crime in places like Ishval, but your department's really cleaned up the streets lately. I'm grateful for that."

"And I'm grateful to you for all your support, sir," Roy added respectfully. "More importantly, though, what the hell happened in there?"

Lowe gave a short laugh before answering with, "I wish I could tell you. One minute we're being held hostage, then tear gas fills the room and everyone begins panicking, doubly so when we heard the gunshot. I tried holding it all together, but I couldn't see a thing through the gas."

"So, you've no idea what our favorite vigilante looks like, then?" Mustang asked, though it came out more as a groan of frustration. Lowe shook his head while frowning.

"If I did, I'd tell you, especially since his presence seems to bolster the need for STONE," Lowe lamented. "I may have seen…something through the gas, if it helps. We were all panicking and the robber keeping guard was telling us to shut up when I guess he was hit. All I saw was a vague shape standing over the guy. He looked lithe, and a little short. Judging from his height and build…no more than mid-twenties."

"That's…something…" Lowe smiled awkwardly in apology, but Mustang couldn't fault him. It wasn't like they'd managed to do any better. There was a sudden tap on his shoulder and Mustang noticed Captain Ross behind him.

"Sir, the press is arriving," she informed him quietly. Both he and the senator took that as the cue to part. They briefly shook hands and Roy followed Ross as she cut a path to his vehicle. "I hear you scheduled a meeting with Denny today."

"That's my next stop," Mustang admitted. Ross said nothing, though the commissioner noticed how tight her body's movements were. "Don't worry, Maria, your husband's not in any trouble. If anything, you may have cause to celebrate tonight. But I'll let him tell you that after we meet."

"Sir, sometimes you know the exact thing to say," Ross joked when they finally reached his car. He couldn't help but laugh at that one. He opened the car door.

"Commissioner Mustang, a word on today's bank robbery for Central T.V.?" asked a balding man with glasses. He hated it when the press pounced like a shark on blood.

"Go," Ross stated. Mustang decided to heed the woman's advice and he got into his car. "The commissioner and police department have no comment at this time." Mustang began to shut his door but still heard the reporter's next question.

"Is it true that Truth has managed to successfully wrap this case once again where the police could not?"

That made Mustang wear a sour look on his face. Truth…that bastard. For the last few months, the bespoken vigilante had been nothing but a thorn in his side almost to the extent that Ather's STONE bill had been. He'd no idea why the skilled and tech-savvy vigilante had chosen his moniker, but Mustang had a couple of ideas, each as revolting as the next. Maybe he was trying to expose some non-existent truth within the department by interfering with them on a weekly basis. It was also possible that he viewed himself as the epitome of truth and justice or something just as asinine. Whatever the case was, Truth the Vigilante had interrupted any number of busts, usually right before they were about to make them.

It was a pain in the ass. The media had taken to calling them Department Dumbasses and he was Commissioner Clueless because they couldn't stop crime. Truth, though, he was practically the news outlets' baby and hero. Mustang wasn't sure what the rest of the people thought, but it pissed him off that a citizen was taking the law into his own hands through increasingly violent measures, but was lauded as some sort of savior. It was like hard work meant nothing. Today was simply the final straw. Mustang drew the line at murder, even if it was of scumbags.

With these unpleasant thoughts in his head, the commissioner took off for Central station. Naturally, it took him no time at all and he was quickly walking up its steps, numerous officers greeting him on the way in. Central's station had hardly changed at all over the last many years. If anything, there weren't as many people working there, but that was about it. Of course, that was just the surface. Underneath, Mustang had worked for years to radicalize the department's structure by working with the president and Congress. After a couple years, he finally made headway by removing the long-standing image that Central was the be all and end all of police advancement.

Sure, he'd brought most of his team over, and he was in Central to deal with politics. Now, however, the East branch, along with every other one, was considered just as important. Roy liked to think it was a positive change. He wanted a more open and caring department; not the one Bradley had cultivated, where you didn't know if you'd be stabbed in the back by a "friend". That was the reason he placed his office on the same floor as the rest of the people who worked for the department: he wanted them to feel he wouldn't abandon them. The office was still secluded, but that was just for security.

"Oh, Commissioner, you're back," called his secretary. Ironically, it was the very same woman he'd met on a case almost seventeen years ago: Rose Thomas. "Detective Brosh is waiting just inside."

"Thanks, Rose," Roy said with his usual smile. "How're the kids?"

"Cain's going to be coming home from the Academy this weekend," Rose answered with a smile.

"Glad to hear. You're taking a vacation soon, right?" She didn't even need to nod for the answer to be confirmed. He started towards his office doors. "Well, enjoy yourself. Oh, and if Chief Hawkeye or the rest of the team call, let me know as soon as possible."

"You got it." He really appreciated the informal nature she approached him with. With a wave, he pushed his doors open and strode into the sparsely decorated room. The detective there stood in an instant, snapping to attention. His blond hair bounced as his body remained rigid. It was almost amusing to the commissioner, but he instead chose to get down to business.

"Relax, Brosh, and sit down," he chortled as he walked around his desk and took a seat on the opposite side. "Sorry for making you wait, but I'm sure you heard about the hostage situation."

"N-no problem, sir," Brosh stammered out. He was obviously fearful when there was no need to be.

"You're not in trouble, Denny," he assured him. Brosh finally relaxed, but still remained at attention. Roy looked the younger detective over. At first glance, Denny Brosh wouldn't seem like proper detective material. He was slightly spotty and had definitely played second fiddle to Ross when she had been his partner during their officer days. It was a wonder the two had married and went on to have a happy family. However, that was over a decade ago and Brosh had since matured into a great detective that commanded respect from his subordinates and his huge family alike. He had a sharp mind and sharper instincts. Roy liked him for that. Mustang must have been staring a while because Brosh was speaking up.

"Then, uh, what am I here for, sir?" he was asking. Mustang leaned back in his chair.

"Performance reviews came out recently, as you know," he began to answer. "I found myself reviewing your file on recommendation from your wife, Captain Armstrong and Chief Hawkeye. You have an excellent arrest record during your time in Narcotics, which can't have been easy, given the vigilante activity of late."

"I try my best," Brosh stated modestly. "Family to feed, after all."

"Your best is really damn good, Brosh," Mustang remarked. "There's no substitute for hard work and loyalty to the department, and that makes you one hell of a cop. Honestly, I never thought moving you here to Central would have been a good move, but you proved me wrong."

"Thanks for the compliments, sir, but…what exactly are you trying to say?"

Mustang stood again and walked back around his desk to stand right before the befuddled detective. "I'm transferring you to homicide. I think you'll make the department proud there."

"H-homicide?" Brosh looked absolutely taken aback. "You're…promoting me?"  
"Effective immediately. Captain Armstrong is looking forward to working with you." Brosh stood at this once again and eagerly shook the commissioner's hand. "Now there's a sensitive case going on at the moment, but Armstrong informs me that he'll have you put on other cases to get your feet wet."

"I'm honored, sir," Brosh said. He finally let go of Mustang's hand.

"Enough with the 'sir'. You have twenty-four hours to move your desk out to Homicide," Mustang told him. "Go on, celebrate with your family. You deserve it." That was all Brosh needed to fire off another string of thank-yous before leaving the office entirely. Roy couldn't stop himself from smiling as he leaned back against his desk. His peace was short-lived, interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Chief Hawkeye's here," Rose informed him. She didn't bother to wait for his answer, knowing exactly what it would be.

"That was quick. What'd you find at the scene?" Mustang asked as soon as Hawkeye's head was in the door. She didn't bother to answer until she'd sat down.

"Robbers were drugged with a compound that knocked them out. Breda's with Forensics now to figure out where it came from," Hawkeye told him wearily. "Truth was well-prepared. I called Armstrong as well. He and Feury will run down the drug lead once we have it. Ballistics can't get a match, though. Apparently, the bullet is too fragmented. Havoc's also running down on the way Truth got into the building."

"Anything on the robbers?"

"Just some petty crooks who used to operate in the east. No idea about the leader, though, considering his face has been shot off. This was their first big job, so I'm thinking they may have been hired by someone. I'll be searching over a list of potential suspects once those leads come through. Also, uniforms are compiling a list of contents for those safety deposit boxes."

"We're moving forward, then. That's a miracle," Mustang commented bitterly. "Truth has never left us so much before. It's like Christmas."

"Hmm…" Riza hummed out. "Sir…Roy, about the wedding. I've reconsidered your offer."

"What offer?" he asked, before recalling a vague memory from a few days ago. "Oh…that. I forgot about it with everything going on."

"Well, I think we both need a chance to unwind, so…maybe it'd be best if we both went to the wedding. Just as colleagues, of course."

"Tempting," he joked in response. "What? Did you think I'd say no? It'll be nice to go together. I haven't gotten out of the office ever since this Truth debacle started up."

"Myself, as well-" Hawkeye's statement was cut off by the ringing of her phone. She held up a finger to Roy before answering it. The commissioner zoned out, staring at the still bare walls of his office. It was just a little lame. "Sir, I have a report from both Breda and Havoc."

"Did the leads pan out?" Mustang asked in anticipation.

"They did. In fact, both lead to the same place," Hawkeye said with just a hint of triumph in her voice. "The drug used was an anesthetic developed recently, combined with a poison that slowly spread through the body. Likewise, our friend Truth used a code breaker to get through the secured back door. Both of these things were developed by Mugear and Company."

Roy paled at the name, just slightly. "You're sure it's Mugear and Company?"

"One and the same."

"Shit." Roy almost fell to the floor. He hated that news, and it was for one reason only. "Now we get to deal with a loudmouthed brat."

"You realize he's hardly a brat anymore? He has three children," Riza reminded him amusingly.

"That's where you're wrong, Hawkeye," Roy scoffed loudly. "Edward Elric will always be a brat, and now he's our best lead to capturing that bastard, Truth.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Welcome back! Or welcome, if that's the case! This was the first chapter of the final installment of the Vengeance Series that started with TO CATCH A KILLER and continued in TO FIND A KILLER. Obviously, this is set much farther in the future and I think I've developed a fitting finale to the story. I hope very much than you'll get a kick out of the blend of both the first anime and Brotherhood combined into one. Anyway, I have four chapters written but my update schedule will be monthly like last time. After that, no promises as I'll work on three stories at once. At that, if you like Fairy Tail, be sure to try my other stories I've posted today. Enjoy and Review. Also, Dare to Be Silly.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm not entirely sure what to say here…Oh, I know! I've recently gotten into Noragami, but that's neither here nor there…the only connection is that they're both made by Studio BONES. Anyway, let's read Chapter 2!**

* * *

Chapter 2

The newspaper that day was a very uninteresting edition. Other than basic reports on the STONE Bill and the vigilante that had been driving the police up a wall, it was mostly an ad for campaign slogans or editorials on how to serve sour milk without making it seem soured. Edward Elric could hardly care about any of that (especially the part about milk), but what did spark his interest was a smaller article on page nine that most people would probably overlook, but not him. It wasn't like he was obsessed with the article or anything, but it was something of note considering his previous profession.

Ed briefly looked out the window of his car, noting that it looked like it was going to rain soon. Sighing to himself, he pulled into his designated parking spot and grabbed his coffee and breakfast before leaving his car. He was able to make it to the building close by just before the downpour started. Ed scoffed and bit into his croissant. Then he shifted the paper underneath his shoulder and proceeded into the near palatial corporate headquarters of Mugear and Company.

"Morning, Doctor Elric," called a friendly security guard. Ed waved at the guy as he approached the security station. "Your brother's already in."

"Not surprising," Ed replied, his mouth half-full of croissant. He briefly deposited his things on the security conveyer belt. "Sometimes I think he doesn't sleep."

"Sometimes he sleeps here," the guard joked. Ed shared in the laugh at his brother's expense; Alphonse was sometimes wont to get caught up in his work. "Well, have a good day."

"Yeah, later," Ed responded, swiping his keys and phone from the security station and proceeding to the elevator where only a single woman was waiting, her suit indicating that she was from marketing. She also looked like she couldn't care less for conversation so Ed focused on finishing his breakfast, a usual routine since he'd started working at the company.

In truth, Ed had never expected to be working at Mugear and Company. When he had quit the police force sixteen years ago, he'd no idea what to do with his life other than being a new father. Things fell into place through the good graces of his brother and father encouraging him to get a doctorate. It was something he was reluctant to do, but did nonetheless. He was glad he did. By completing his doctorate in chemistry, his dissertation having been done on various chemical agents and ways to counter them, he found himself able to spend far more time with his family. He ended up finding work at Al's company and was grateful for the understanding boss when Winry announced her second pregnancy. Life turned both chaotic and smooth at the same time.

Then Al's company was bought out by Mugear and Company. It wasn't a lack of money so much as Mugear happened to offer them chances that no one else could. AlChemistry Labs was absorbed (but kept its name under a new division) and the Elric brothers went to work for Robert T. Mugear. That became Ed's new norm for the past years and remained unchanged by the elevator bell dinging. He followed the marketing girl inside, but they were soon joined by someone else.

"I'm surprised to see you here so early, Doctor Elric." Ed glanced at the new occupant who was just removing his fedora with a slight tip. Ed's lips curled into a slight frown but he nodded at the man. The man in question, or doctor, ruffled his wispy gray hair and smiled a golden smile, literally in this case because one of his teeth was actually gold, ironically befitting his name.

"How are you, Dr. Gold?" Ed asked. The marketing woman wrinkled her nose as though she couldn't stand the concept of socialization. Neither of the inter-generational men cared what she thought. Dr. Gold even went so far as to begin laughing.

"I'm all right. Busy working on a new experiment, as always," the doctor responded, his eyes making their weird cross-eyed formation. It was a little creepy to Ed but it wasn't like the man could help what he was born with. For the most part, Dr. Gold was likeable, just a little off-putting when one first met him. He was enthusiastic about his work and was always excited to move on to the next project. Their two departments often worked together, so Ed had a very positive working relationship with the man, especially as an elder in a similar field. "I hear you boys are almost done with your current project."

"Just about," Ed answered as the elevator shuddered to a stop to let someone else in. "Knowing you, you'll probably want to get your hands on it when we're done."

"What can I say? I like your work."

"You just like _weaponizing_ our work," Ed joked. Dr. Gold seemed to wear a look of mock incredulity at the accusation. It wasn't without any merit, Ed knew, but to say that Dr. Gold simply weaponized things would be like calling a police officer that shot a fleeing suspect a terrorist. Gold's job was to develop weaponry so that the rest of the company could develop countering agents for said weaponry and then sell it to the Defense Department to protect their nation. It was a constant process.

"If I don't, someone will and we'd be left with little option," Gold chortled out. Ed could hardly argue with that point when the bell dinged, indicating his arrival for his own floor.

"Well, good talking to you," Ed said with a brief wave. Dr. Gold waved with his own grin at the younger scientist and the doors slammed shut. Ed turned away and began his walk to the end of the hallway and the lab that was stationed there. As soon as he slid his card to open the door, all thoughts of Dr. Gold and their conversation left his mind in order to focus on the task at hand.

"Brother, you're here! Give me a hand!" Al's voice rang out from a small testing area. Ed unceremoniously put his bag down and put a white lab coat on, along with a pair of goggles. He then followed the sound of Al's voice and found his younger brother leaning over a piece of paper. "I've been trying to run the numbers all morning but with just myself I can't get the scanner right and run the computer at the same time. Can you man the monitors?"

"Look at us, Al. Doctors and we're stuck playing machine junkies," Ed joked as he walked over to the computer that was just waiting for a keystroke to begin a simulation. Al dropped what he was doing and hopped on to a chair in order to hold the scanner he had mentioned in place. Ed clicked for the scan to run and waited a couple seconds until numbers and figures started popping up on screen. "Winry would laugh her ass off if she saw us."

"How is Winry? It's been a while since we talked family," Al asked, hopping back down and practically racing over to the monitor to see the results.

"She's fine, as usual," Ed answered. "Still running the automail shop; Lizzie started apprenticing there last month. You know, you'd know all of this if you hadn't moved from Resembool or if you actually got out of the office. How are Mei and the kids?"

"Visiting Ling and Lan Fan in Xing," Al admitted. "I would've gone but Mei told me to stay since we're at such an important phase of the project. She calls at least three times a day."

"That's good to hear," Ed remarked, leaning against a wall as he watched Al poring over the numbers on the monitor. His brother was all too similar to him. When the two of them started working, they would always become so embroiled in it that everything else would be shut out. Now was no different. Naturally, Al was also the more dedicated of the two, considering that he had started the company and then moved to East City to be closer to it while still having a family. "Did you see the paper this morning?"

"No, I got in early this morning. Do the numbers look right to you?" Al asked, practically squinting at the screen. Ed shook his head and walked over to the screen. After a quick once over of the screen to make sure that everything was right, he promptly smacked his brother on the back of his head. "Hey. What was that for?"

"Take a break, Al," Ed chastised him. "You're not seeing straight so have some coffee and breakfast. Honestly, without Mei around, you can fall into the worst of habits." Al retreated, looking just a little guilty. He smiled and finally stepped away from their testing site and went over to the small refreshments area that was stocked with all manner of snacks.

"So, what was in the paper?" Al asked, brewing himself a cup of tea.

"Looks like our good old friends Lust and Gluttony are getting released from prison on good behavior," Ed told him. Al quirked an eyebrow at the statement but said nothing. "Though I doubt good behavior includes good dieting for that fat slob. Not that I'm worried or anything, just something to note."

"If they'd be angry at anyone, it would be Commissioner Mustang, right?" Ed snorted loudly, which earned a laugh from Al. To think that Mustang had actually made commissioner was funny to Ed, especially since the Elric brothers had indirectly helped him get there. "We were just bystanders in most of his charades."

"I'd hope they see it that way," Ed noted, joining his brother at the refreshments and picking up a muffin. "Not that it matters; Bradley died a couple years ago from a heart attack and Selim's still in prison. Looks like all their potential masters are gone."

"And Homunculus Corp was dissolved almost two decades ago," Al reminded him. "Face it, the biggest thing you have to worry about right now is what college Eddie's going to choose in a couple years."

"No, I just have to worry about whether Teacher's gonna kill him when he does go to college, considering he's already decided to go to our alma mater." A shiver passed down Ed's spine and Al's teeth clenched at the frightening implication.

"What's this about killing someone?" Ed heard the voice before the person saying it had rounded the corner. He was also scowling before the person rounded the corner. "Ed's not planning on making another serum that-"

"It was one time, Tringham!" Ed snapped before the man could finish, his scowl never disappearing. It wasn't that Ed didn't like Russell Tringham and his younger brother Fletcher. On the contrary, the two were very close friends who would often go out for a drink, and his youngest child, Lucas, was good friends with Russell's oldest child, Brianna. No, Ed just hated the fact that Russell was younger than him…and taller. "I thought you guys were still out of town."

"Funeral was yesterday," Russell's younger brother, Fletcher, remarked. "We don't have a lot of relatives so there was no need to stay around for long."

"That, and dad didn't have many friends despite the ridiculous amount of jobs he went through," Russell scoffed out while mirroring Ed by grabbing a muffin. "Oh, and Brianna has a recital this weekend. She was hoping Lucas could come and watch."

"Then why doesn't she just ask him to come?" Ed said. Everyone else gave him exasperated looks that he ignored, purposefully. He didn't like the idea of their children getting too friendly. "Anyway, my condolences on the death of your father."

"Meh, don't be. He always overworked himself," Russell commented offhandedly. "I'm not that surprised he had a heart attack in the first place. How's your dad doing?'

"Same as ever," Al said, finally sipping lazily on his tea. "He works pretty hard, too, but there've been no major scares yet. I'd hate to have to plan a funeral right now."

"We'd probably need a convention center in order to fit all the guests in," Ed remarked bitterly. "Anyway, we better get back to work, huh?"

"Yeah…c'mon Fletch, let's double check the formula for that local anesthetic and make sure it's right before it's sent off for mass production," Russell said, leading the other Tringham brother back to their work area.

"Russ, what about out e-mail?"

"It can wait. We've been away from the lab too much to put off this work." Ed shared a brief look with his own brother and both knew it was time for them to get back to work as well. Having relaxed, Al took another look at the computer he'd been squinting at earlier and this time seemed to come away satisfied. Ed moved to follow him, hearing the hissing of a door slide open at the same exact time, indicating the arrival of someone new. In this case, it could only have been one person.

"How are you boys doing?" Ed turned to give a half-hearted wave to the man that had just stepped in. "Oh, Doctors Tringham, I'm surprised you're back in. My sympathies. Nash was an old friend. We'd worked together about a decade ago. Good man."

Ed drowned out the conversation between the Tringhams and their boss, Robert T. Mugear. For a man in his late fifties, Mugear had the appearance of a man in his forties, if you made him look like a cowboy with a bushy moustache. Well, Mugear could choose to look any way he wanted, considering the vastness of his wealth (and beer belly). Mugear had experienced a meteoric rise to the top of the industry with his innovative ideas. According to the company bio and other rumors that circulated around the company, Mugear had originally been a land baron down south who, when his grandmother fell deathly ill on her ninety-fifth birthday, sold all his land to develop a cure. Surprisingly, it worked, and The Mugear Company was formed: a pharmaceutical group that dabbled in everything from over-the-counter to countering chemical warfare. It was astounding that he'd done so in all of two decades (no doubt aided by the fall of Homunculus Corp) while charming the brightest minds in the country. It made Mugear a force to be reckoned with, and a surprisingly benevolent boss.

Ed finished ruminating on all of this in the time that it took Mugear to extend his sympathies to the Tringham brothers. In reality, it was Al nudging his shoulder that informed him of the burly man making his way over.

"Doctors Elric, how's work going?" Mugear asked the pair of them with a hearty slap on their backs. Ed always took it as a gesture of affection. "How's my antidote coming along?"

"We're in the testing stages, sir," Al informed him in his ever polite and respectful tone.

"You boys certainly are fast. Didn't I commission you boys to make the antidote just a couple months ago?" Mugear cajoled, adjusting his belt buckle slightly.

"Mr. Mugear, when it comes to the lives of others, the Elric brothers don't play around," Ed told him sternly. Mugear somehow looked impressed at Ed's statement, though it wasn't like he hadn't heard it before. "New poison or not, we're making sure this antidote will have a hundred percent success rate."

"I know, I know," their boss waved off with a chuckle. "It's just…you boys aren't the only team I've given this to, but they've barely begun to make headway on it."

"Really?" Al blurted out in complete surprise. "I mean, I can't speak for the other teams, but the hardest part was isolating the correct compound in the poison to tackle. Brother examined it for over a week before he was finally able to isolate the compound. I just had to find the right dosage after that, but finding a counteragent was simple. Did the other teams have up-to-date equipment?"

Ed shook his head. Al was being as obliviously modest as usual, blaming the other teams' failures on potentially old equipment. The truth of it was, simply, that they were both incredibly smart and put a lot of hard work into it. Their office was likely the smallest in the entire company yet continued to put out consistently successful results. All it boiled down to was hard work, even if that hard work was blabbing out chemical compounds at the dinner table (and getting a blow to the back of the head in response).

"No, Doctor Elric, they have everything just as up-to-date as you do," Mugear assured him. "Let's face it, boys, the AlChemistry Division just puts out great work. Well, that anesthetic you developed a few months back has been selling like hotcakes. The military's even looking into using it on the battlefield with their medics."

"Good to know our stuff helps rake in the cash," Ed quipped sardonically. This earned him a wide smile from Mugear that was a cross between smug and sheepish.

"We helped on that!" Russell yelled across the lab and Ed resisted the urge to give him the middle finger.

"I don't care who worked on it, this lab's a bunch of miracle workers," Mugear announced triumphantly. "So, when do you guys think testing will be done?"

"Probably tomorrow," Al said tentatively, a bit of nervousness shaking his voice. The Elrics never had been good at keeping timetables, especially when they got caught up in their work.

"Definitely by the weekend," Ed concluded. Mugear looked pleased, particularly so when he slapped the two brothers heartily on the back once again.

"Sounds good to me. I look forward to it." Adding a chuckle to the end, Mugear left the lab and its occupants to their work. Al breathed deeply in relief.

"Thanks for the save, brother," he told him. "I hope this will be done by tomorrow morning, but you know how it is. We get caught up and then-"

"Trust me, Al, I know," Ed told him with his own laugh. "Winry's only beaten it into my head a couple hundred times. Which, on that note, she's expecting you for dinner tonight and that's something we can't be late for. Let's get working." Whether it was from a fear of Winry's wrath or his own eagerness to finish testing, Al eagerly agreed.

The work day flew by thanks to the amount of activity in the lab (particularly so with only four employees) and because of the progress made on testing the antidote. They'd proceeded so far that while Ed locked away the compound and Al shut down the lab, the older Elric thought they'd actually have a chance to finish the work early the next morning. That, along with the rain having lifted, put him in a positive mood on the road back to Resembool where the Elric household was bustling with activity, judging by the lights and shadows in the house.

"Dad's home!" yelled a voice the second he stepped in through the garage. Ed had no doubt who it was when he saw his daughter, Elizabeth (or Lizzie), standing there with a popsicle in her mouth. "Uncle Al's with him, too!"

"What's up, Uncle Al?" said an older voice. Ed snorted in amusement when his oldest child, the sixteen-year old Eddie poked his head around the corner. Al was only able to give a wave to his nephew before he was inexplicably tackled by a blur that was Ed's youngest, the eleven-year old Lucas. Ed laughed again and rolled his eyes, hanging up his jacket. He closed the distance between he and his two older children. "I'm outta here. Gotta help mom in the kitchen."

"You hate kitchen duty, Eddie!" Lizzie yelled after him, as if reminding him. That brief reminder was the distraction that Ed needed to take his daughter into a hug. As expected, she wretched instantly. "Blegh! Dad, I'm fourteen. A little too old for hugs, don't you think?"

"The day my daughter's too old for hugs is the day-"

"That you're actually taller than Uncle Al, dad," Lucas said instantly. Ed held his temper in check. Lizzie wasn't quite so forgiving. Breaking free of Ed's hold, Lizzie dashed to her younger brother and whacked him over the head with her popsicle.

"Who're you calling small, beanpole?" she snapped.

"N-not you," Lucas answered in a frightened tone.

"That's right! I'm only fourteen and a half. I'm still growing," Lizzie proclaimed. "You'll see! I'll be taller than mom and dad combined."

"That would be eerily disturbing," Ed commented, dragging his daughter away from his youngest. Lizzie resisted for a moment but eventually stopped struggling when Ed had finished pulling her into the living room. Al and Lucas had followed after them. "So, how was school?"

"Boring," Lizzie expressed with a sigh. "I'd rather take tomorrow off and work at the shop."

"Not happening," Ed admonished his daughter. Lizzie puffed her cheeks out but accepted her father's mandate when she flopped down on the couch. Ed smirked and ruffled her hair. Lizzie was practically the spitting image of her mother except for her golden eyes and a little bit in the shape of her nose. She had also inherited her mother's love of machines, as well as her father's sensitivity about her height. It didn't help when her older brother, who was now coming to join them from the kitchen, was at least a head taller than her. Ed always took the time to assure her that things would get better.

"Done helping mom already?" Lizzie asked with a snicker. She was about to bite into her popsicle again only to realize it had Lucas' hair on it.

"She doesn't want my help, Lazy," Eddie taunted at her. Lizzie wrinkled her nose at the nickname. "And since I already finished my homework, which was a breeze by the way, I thought I'd catch up with dad."

"Ugh…If this is more father-son bonding time, I'm going to go help mom in the kitchen before she builds another oven for fun." With that, Lizzie left the room only to be replaced with Lucas.

"Okay, how were your days?" Ed asked his son. Eddie leaned back and gave an insistent look to Lucas, which made his father survey his youngest son. Like the rest of the Elric family, he retained his golden hair, though he retained the blue of his mother's eyes, but as he'd yet to hit puberty, his features hadn't settled themselves yet. Ed, naturally, loved him all the same.

"I got the report on the periodic table back," Lucas said nervously, shifting his feet. "I got an A plus, top of the class actually."

"He already told mom, but his teacher wants to put him into an accelerated program," Eddie said with a smile in his little brother's direction. Ed was glad all his children had a positive relationship that encouraged and supported each other…most of the time. "I think it's great. One more step to becoming a doctor, just like Uncle Al."

"And what about you? Testing for college is soon, right?' Ed asked of his oldest and the one who looked most like him (probably the reason his son cut his hair short, in order to tell them apart). Eddie shrugged like he had nothing to worry about. He likely didn't since Eddie was already top of his class at the school in East City that he attended (and Lizzie had begun attending that year). That fact alone, combined with the genius tendencies he'd inherited from both sides of the family meant that Eddie had little to worry about when it came to colleges…except for whether his current girlfriend, the number two in his class, would be going with him. "Well, you'll be fine. Lucas, accelerated program! That's great!"

"Thanks, dad," Lucas murmured in embarrassment. The doorbell in the front hall rang loudly.

"Ed, can you get the door for me, please?" called Winry from the kitchen. With a groan, Ed lifted himself off the couch and walked over to the front door, opening it with little ceremony.

"Hey, Ed!" Ed smiled and stepped aside to let the two at the door into the house. Once he closed it behind them, the older man took an opportunity to greet the two new arrivals.

"Good to see you again Elicia, Jonathan," he said, giving a brief hug to the beaming Elicia Hughes. "Winry's in the kitchen. I think dinner should be ready soon. How's your mom?"

"Busy," Elicia laughed out. Jonathan quietly took her coat from her and hung them up. "With the wedding on Saturday, she's busy making all the flower arrangements."

"We told her not to fuss, but I guess Mrs. Hughes wants everything perfect," Jonathan admitted, wrapping an arm around Elicia. In the light of the front hallway, Elicia's engagement ring glittered and Ed nodded knowingly. He'd been part of enough weddings in his lifetime to know how much work they were. Either way, he was glad that Elicia and Jonathan Drake were finally tying the knot after being college sweethearts. Winry was no doubt even more ecstatic given that she was Matron of Honor and because she was squealing as she exited from the kitchen to see them standing there.

"Elicia! How've you been?" Winry yelled jubilantly, her apron flapping about as she brought the engaged couple into a hug. "For that matter, how are you feeling about Saturday?"

"A little nervous, but excited, too," Elicia admitted. "Jon's no doubt the same, but you know men: they try to suppress their nervous feelings to appear manly." At this, Ed and Jonathan shared a look and both almost burst out laughing, but restrained themselves. "How're the kids?"

"They're good. Rambunctious, as usual," Winry said with a step back. Ed wrapped his arm around her, happy to have his wife at his side again. She responded with a brief peck on his cheek. "We've raised them right so far…I think."

"That was mostly you," Ed snickered out.

"Mom, I think the turkey might be on fire, unless you drowned it in hot sauce," Lizzie said with a peek around the corner. Winry squeaked a bit and Ed let go of her just in time for her to dash back to the kitchen. "Hey, Auntie Elicia, Soon-to-Be Uncle Jon. I'm gonna stop mom from building a fire extinguisher."

"I don't build something for everything, Lizzie. Now help me de-charcoal this turkey!"

"Not a word, mom!" Lizzie said with a roll of her eyes. Ed shook his head; sometimes he wondered which personality Lizzie had inherited more.

"Come on, guys, it's almost time for dinner." With these words, Ed took the engaged couple on a short trip to the kitchen, catching sight of Al talking with Lucas and Eddie in the living room. When the three arrived it was to see an only slightly burnt turkey on the table with both Winry and Lizzie sitting in their chairs looking like they'd just run a marathon. "Saved?"

"Barely," Winry said with a scowl in the food's direction. Ed would have laughed, but he didn't want Winry's ire directed at him. "Eddie! Lucas! Dinner!"

"This looks delicious, Mrs. Elric," Jonathan commented as he took a seat next to Elicia. "I haven't had a home-cooked meal in days. Long hours combined with wedding planning is not conducive to-"

"Stop babbling, Jon," Elicia said quietly while the rest of the Elric family joined them at the dinner table. "How's your shop been, sis?"

"Bustling, all things considered," Winry answered as she sliced up the turkey. "Lizzie's finally apprenticing me, too. It makes things easier and harder at the same time."

"Don't worry, mom. One day, I'll be a better mechanic than you." Ed didn't doubt his daughter's claims whatsoever; she had a tendency to do what she said. "What about you Aunt Elicia?"

"Expanding mom's business isn't easy work, especially when you want to keep it in the family," Elicia admitted, scooping some mashed potatoes onto her spoon. "Thankfully, my friends and I have a head for business. You'll see, we'll become the premier florist company yet."

"Sounds like hard work," Eddie commented, pushing away his glass of milk. "On that subject, how was work today, dad? What did you and Uncle Al work on?"

Ed looked over to Al, who looked comical with a piece of turkey halfway to his mouth, and the brothers shared their usual unspoken connection between their eyes. "It's a secret."

"Oh, come on," Eddie expressed in exasperation. Jonathan gave a small chuckle in response.

"I think Elicia knows the feeling," he said. "Half of the work I do is top secret as well. Honestly, even I don't know what half of the work I do is for."

"You work for the intelligence agency, right?" Al asked.

"Yeah, but I'm just a junior analyst right now…and I still have ridiculously long hours."

"It's a miracle he'll be able to get away for the honeymoon," Elicia said with a kiss on her fiancée's cheek. Lucas wrinkled his nose, which Winry giggled at. "But, thankfully, unless there's some crisis in the nation, they don't need him all the time."

"Goodness knows there's enough crises in this country," Ed commented. "The police are already dealing with some psycho vigilante, no matter what the media makes of him."

"Yeah, I overheard mom asking Uncle Roy about that over the phone." Suddenly, there was a clattering of forks on a plate coming from Winry's direction. Ed wasn't surprised. His own jaw was tightened at the mention of the current police commissioner's name, no matter whether he had joked about him earlier. Al, too, was frozen in place. The Elric kids were also looking between their parents in worry, noticing the changes. Winry pulled herself together the quickest.

"Slipped from my hand. Sorry," she apologized with a clearing of her throat. "So, where's the honeymoon going to be again?"

After that, dinner returned to a normal and happy conversation level, with Roy Mustang's name not brought up again. That wasn't to say that the man didn't weigh on Ed's mind up until Elicia and Jonathan left. On the contrary. Simply mentioning Mustang had the adverse effect of reminding Ed of all the experiences he'd been through with the current commissioner. In particular, he'd remembered what the older man had done sixteen years ago. An action that had bound them all tighter than blood. It was a secret that gnawed at them. Ed had hardly kept in contact once the team had moved to Central, even though he had still worked cases with them as a consultant, but he knew what had changed in the detectives' lives. Havoc had gotten divorced, Breda threw himself into his work, and Feury had supposedly become estranged from his family.

Even Ed's family wasn't exempt. Only Al and he knew the truth of what had happened, but Winry wasn't stupid and she could guess that something more than him faking his death had happened on that case. She kept quiet, even about her feelings of ambivalence towards Roy Mustang. Thankfully, their kids had never picked up on it, even though they had met Mustang but a few times.

"There's no use pretending, Ed," Winry told him as they both got ready for bed that night. "We're going to have to see him this weekend and you'll have to be on your best behavior."

"No promises there," Ed snorted out. "I helped get him where he is, but I want nothing more to do with Roy Mustang or the police department anymore. I quit for a reason, you know."

Winry tilted her head knowingly at him and said nothing, just turning over and flicking the light off. As Ed lay there, though, he had to wonder what life would have been like if he'd never quit.

* * *

The next morning dawned, as usual, with the frenetic pace that only the Elric household could bring. Between getting Eddie and Lizzie into the car so that Ed could get them to school, to Winry dashing out in order to slip their lunches into the backseat, it ensured that morning was never dull. Something which the two older siblings liked to remark on at least once a week.

"You're picking us up today, right?" Eddie asked as he shuffled intently through his bag.

"That's what your mother says," Ed responded. "I'll try not to work too late, but you know how Uncle Al can get."

"Like Lucas when he's doing homework," Lizzie snarked from her seat. "No wonder he admires Uncle Al so much. Anyway, looks like Eddie's girlfriend is waiting for him."

"At least I have one," Eddie taunted as he slipped out of the car. "You know what the rest of the freshmen call you: The Little Terror."

"I'm gonna kill him!" Lizzie snapped as she sprung out of the car, barely remembering to shut it as she ran after her brother with murder in her eyes. Ed couldn't help but laugh and he drove away from the school and back to work.

He wasn't expecting to find what he did when he stepped into the front lobby.

"Sir, I understand, but Mr. Mugear's out of the office on meetings today, so I-" the receptionist at the front said in clear frustration. Ed squinted his eyes in confusion.

"Are you saying that these bulging muscles will not allow me to see someone in charge?" boomed another voice and Ed began to pale considerably. As he drew closer, he saw the unmistakable and hulking form of Alex Louis Armstrong. Not wanting to interact with the mass of muscle, Ed tried to sneak by as quietly as possible.

"I…I can look for someone if I know what you're here about," the receptionist stammered. Armstrong stepped back, looking pleased. Ed now noticed that he was accompanied by the still timid and relatively unchanged Detective Kain Feury. His day was just getting better.

"Very well," Armstrong said proudly. "We are looking for information on your Electronic Decoder 4000 and an anesthetic known as Red Water."

"Red Water?" Ed's words tumbled from his mouth before he could even realize he was saying them. Those were two words he wasn't expecting to hear together again. Hearing them now was no more pleasant than it was before. Of course, his little slip up just happened to be caught by Feury who turned his head.

"Ed?" he said in surprise, though it was more at actually seeing him than anything else. Everyone in Team Mustang knew where he worked by now. "Wow, I didn't expect to run into you."

"Hm? Is that you, Edward Elric? !" Ed flinched at Armstrong's volume. He doubly flinched at the man stomping over and bringing him into a bone-cracking hug. "How joyous it is to see you after so long!"

"Okay, Captain Spaz, you're breaking my ribs," Ed protested. Feury joined them shortly and managed to pull Armstrong away with a sheepish look to the Homicide Captain. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Robbery case in Central went south, so it turned into a homicide case," Feury answered easily.

"Let me guess: the vigilante."

"Hmph, that mindless ruffian is making a mockery of us policemen!" Armstrong spat bitterly. "In my father's day, they never had such insolence."

"Anyway," Feury breathed in order to cut the near-raving captain off, "both the robbers and the vigilante used a technology called Electronic Decoder 4000 to break in. Then our vigilante used a toxin named Red Water in dart form to sedate and paralyze the robbers before killing them. You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?"

"Know anything? I practically developed the compound!" Ed told him. This seemed to take Feury aback.

"Seriously? ! Then, can you help us? Captain Armstrong figured it was a good idea to check out the company as the original source to see if it might lead us anywhere."

"Well, I can't help you with the Electronic Decoder, since that's primarily the Defense Department liaison's job, but I might be able to help with Red Water. You'll need to come up to the lab. Nicole, can you get them visitor's badges?"

"Right away, Mr. Elric," the receptionist responded. To Ed's surprise, the two old friends looked impressed as they got their badges and pinned them on. Ed started leading them deeper into the building right afterward.

"So, Edward Elric, what can you tell us about this 'Red Water'?" Armstrong asked, his voice a little quieter.

"What I can tell you is that the anesthetic we developed wasn't called Red Water," Ed said as he brought them on to the elevator. "Al and I developed an anesthetic called the Red Tincture. Around the time of development, our weaponization department proposed to create a toxin in the base anesthetic that would paralyze those under sedation and if left untreated, could kill them. The proposal was to call it Red Water. I'll leave the implications up to you.

"In any case, the proposal got shut down because it was too dangerous, and kind of ridiculous, considering that we developed the initial product to save lives. So, I can't help you with any purchasing of Red Water because it shouldn't exist in the first place, but I can check our records to see if the original anesthetic was moved to another division or the companies and doctor's offices we have contracts with. After all, Mugear and Company is the sole distributor of the product."

"Thanks, Ed," Feury responded but Ed said nothing. The elevator doors whooshed open and Ed led the two detectives down the hallway to the labs. He only got a single response upon entering.

"Hey, Ed. Al and Fletch went to go talk with an executive in marketing…Hey, who're they?" Russell said upon seeing the two cops. Ed chose not to respond or introduce them, mostly because he thought that the less time spent with the older men, the better. Instead, he silently logged onto his computer and started going through his lists of products. In particular, he made sure that every unit of the anesthetic was accounted for. Everything was fine until he hit the bottom.

"Russ, are all the units of Red Tincture accounted for?" he asked concernedly.

"Last I checked. Why?"

"Because our report says that one unit was taken from the lab a couple weeks ago, well after mass production. I didn't notice it before, and I usually do. Plus, I know that Al sure as hell wouldn't authorize it, so…"

"Wait…Red Tincture," Russell mused and he rolled over to join Ed at the computer. Ed quickly pointed out the discrepancy and the date next to it. "You know, I remember Dr. Gold talking to Al around that date about the very same thing. He came in for something, I think…Maybe he took a unit without authorization and chose to log it in as missing."

"Of course…Gold," Ed breathed. That man always wanted nothing more than to weaponize their products. Usually, Ed didn't mind, but when it came to Red Tincture, he and Al had put their foot down, and Dr. Gold had been the veritable leader behind the Red Water project.

"Where can we find this Dr. Gold?" Armstrong asked authoritatively. Russell looked up at him before flitting back to the computer to look up the scientist's itinerary.

"Looks like a meeting with the Defense Department. He usually makes some big deals with them," Russell told them. "He'll probably be back in the office late this weekend or Monday."

"I guess we'll have to come back then," Feury said with a sigh. "Well, good to see you again, Ed."

"Yeah…" Ed said, barely noting the two's departure. Instead, he was staring at the screen, thinking on the coincidence of it all. Russell stared at him inquisitively before Ed started laughing. "All this time, and I still can't shake those investigative instincts."

"What're you talking about?"

"I'm saying that we have a missing anesthetic and you can bet I'm gonna find out why."

* * *

 **Author's Note: I really wanted to write an Elric family scene that also moved the plot along. Mostly I really wanted to show how close Elicia and Winry were since I implied it but couldn't show it in TFAK. Anyway, Ed's back in the story and the intrigue deepens. Yes, Jonathan Drake is an original character but hardly a major focus (it's impossible to find characters that are Elicia's age in the canon material). In fact, I had to create two characters in total because I ran out of characters I could feasibly use. I had to stretch my imagination. Anyway, I'm grateful for the response last chapter got, and I'm sorry I haven't had time to respond to reviews, but know that I love them. Well, I'll see you next month with a new chapter, so Review and Dare to Be Silly.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Another chapter! The story's really heating up now, so I hope you'll stay with me to the very end. Chapter 3 time!**

* * *

Chapter 3

"Monday morning?" Mustang asked of the man he was speaking to over the phone. "I'm sure I can shuffle some things around in my schedule to make it work. I'm surprised you were able to schedule me in so fast."

"The STONE Bill is an extremely important piece of legislation," said the senator on the other end. Mustang frowned a little bit, leaning back in his chair as he did so. The door to his office opened and Hawkeye came into the room with an absurd amount of confidence. The commissioner waved at her but kept his concentration focused on the current conversation he was having. "We'd rather have any snafus cleaned up before they can turn into bigger problems. Senator Ather is particularly interested in clearing this whole mess as soon as possible."

 _Of course he is_ ," Mustang thought bitterly to himself. The STONE Bill was his pet project after all. "Well, I'll look forward to speaking to you all on Monday then, senator."

A few exchanged platitudes later and Mustang had gratefully concluded the call. Hawkeye watched him for a few moments. "Looks like your work day is getting busy."

"It's always busy," he said distastefully. "The STONE Bill is just making it pointlessly busy. I'm pretty sure that Ather is on the warpath since I just spoke with the guy yesterday and he's already got me a meeting before the senate committee on Monday. Never mind that, though. I'd presume you have a status update for me, otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"Captain Armstrong called," she stated matter-of-factly in response. "Apparently, he and Feury met with Edward."

"And was he any help? Or did he give us all a hard time, as usual?" Hawkeye cast him a withering look of consternation, but continued onward.

"Apparently, he and Alphonse were the ones that developed the anesthetic used by the vigilante," Hawkeye continued. Roy's eyebrows shot into his receding hairline. "Although, he did say that some of the adverse effects such as the paralysis and poison were not their doing, but part of some plan to weaponize the drug."

"What about the decoder?" Mustang asked of his subordinate while shifting paper around on his desk.

"A little more luck there, but not by much," she admitted. "Apparently, the decoder is only distributed to security companies and the Department of Defense. It narrows the search, but the sheer volume of locations that the vigilante could have gotten it from is so high that it may take a while to run down on that lead."

"In other words, we're no closer than we were twenty-four hours ago," Mustang said in exasperation. He quickly followed it with a rather tired sigh. "I hate it when every problem we have falls at the same time."

"At least tomorrow can take your mind off things for a change," Riza suggested. Roy just rubbed his eyelids at her words. "Hard to believe that Elicia's actually getting married."

"Tell me about it. I still remember the day she was born." Not that it was hard to forget almost every moment that Roy had shared with Hughes and his family. Thankfully, the memories no longer brought him pain like they used to. At the moment, he was filled with nothing but joy at the fact that his sweet little goddaughter was getting married in only twenty-four hours. Hughes would have been proud, especially at her choice in a husband. A slight scrape of Riza's chair against the carpet dragged Roy out of everything and he regained his presence of mind just in time to wave her out the door.

He couldn't deny that he continued to stare after her back, even as she shut the door. Weddings always seemed to stir up his feelings towards Riza more than usual. Even now, at fifty years old, he still pined after her, despite the fact that they both made the choice to achieve the dream that had to do with their jobs and not their romantic lives. Sometimes, he wondered if he hadn't made the wrong decision. His feelings were still there and always would be, but he had to wonder if Riza's had faded in the slightest. If he threw everything aside right now and asked her to marry him, he still wasn't sure if she'd say yes.

 _Don't go down that road, Roy. It's just the wedding talking_ , he reminded himself. He then forced himself to push those thoughts out of his head and returned to the paperwork that was just waiting for him. That was enough, combined with the various meetings that he had, including an impromptu meeting from Senator Lowe to discuss the break-in yesterday.

"I'm just glad everything was still in my box," Lowe admitted.

"And I'm glad you were able to confirm your stuff so quickly. It makes our job easier." They spent the rest of the time chatting about Truth and the STONE Bill. The senator only left when Roy realized he had to leave the office in order to pick up Riza and get to East City so they could check into the hotel he'd booked for the weekend.

"Don't worry about Monday, Roy," the senator said as he made his exit in front of the commissioner. "Regardless of what the committee decides, I'm in your corner on the issue."

"Glad to know it," he confirmed, and the two men finally parted ways. Roy just made a short trip down the halls, wishing a good weekend to the many officers he passed by. Eventually, he reached the door to Riza's office and knocked on it. "Ready to go?"

"Just a moment, sir," Riza responded as she finished shutting her office down and grabbing her purse. How easily he could forget that she was feminine occasionally. Her phone rang out shrilly as they began to leave the office, but it must not have been that important because she turned it off. "We need to make a quick stop by my apartment to pick up a few things."

Roy said nothing to this statement, but followed her instructions easily. She was in and out within five minutes, bringing only a small suitcase and the dress she was obviously wearing to the wedding. Roy's things were already in the back of his car. He drove straight off towards East City. The two rode in silence, neither needing to say anything to the other. That silence persisted right up until they'd checked into their room. Riza chose to check her phone for any messages and Roy was forced to endure the screeching of Rebecca Catalina for five minutes.

"She sounds happy," he mocked sardonically.

"I guess Havoc screwed something up again," Riza sighed as she hung her stuff up. Roy scoffed, but pulled out his own phone in order to text Gracia that they had arrived. "I think she views me as a sounding board ever since they divorced. She's still in love with him, but they're both too stubborn to get back together."

Riza had no need to state the real reason that they were divorced. Everyone on the team knew the reason why: secrets weren't very good for a relationship. Roy fell asleep to that disconcerting thought.

* * *

Saturday morning in East City dawned surprisingly sunny, since it rained there more often than it should have. Still, Roy felt that this was good news for Elicia: every bride wanted a sunny day. Smiling to himself, Roy dressed himself in his suit and he and Riza were on their way to the church. Riza bid him farewell in order to greet Gracia, but Roy went to the bridal chambers, knocking quietly on the door.

The first person he came face-to-face with was Winry.

"It's been a while, Commissioner Mustang," she said with a smile. Roy smiled back, unsure of how the younger woman thought of him. There was a brief second of silence. "Aren't you coming in?"

"Good to see you, Mrs. Elric." He was unsure whether he should be formal or not, but it had been years since he'd spoken with Ed's wife. It was no longer his place to call her by her first name. Her smile faltered a little, but she stepped aside to let him in. Elicia had obviously turned to see who was here because she immediately lit up at the sight of Roy.

"Uncle Roy!" she squealed, picking her dress up and hugging him.

"Look at you, squirt," he teased playfully. "All grown up and getting married, even before me."

"Mom says you've been married for thirty years, even if you don't know it yet," Elicia retorted.

"To the job, maybe," he countered with a flick of her nose. "I'm happy for you, Elicia, and I know your dad would've been proud of you, too. Jonathan's a good guy." Elicia continued to smile up at him until the door opened again and the wedding planner (at least, that's who Roy thought it was) emerged.

"Are we all ready yet?" she said sternly and all the girls seemed to scramble for their flowers and making sure they looked just right. "You must be the father of the bride."

"Not quite, but close enough," Roy added with a wink. The wedding planner hardly seemed to care because she whisked him and the whole bridal party into the event of the day. If Roy were honest with himself, he could hardly remember the day since everything blended into a massive whirlwind of emotions. All the charcoal-haired man could remember was giving Elicia away as he stood in for her father. Then he took a seat next to Gracia, who cried through the whole ceremony.

"She's very happy you could walk her down the aisle," Gracia told him after the ceremony was over and they'd taken photographs. "Even if Maes couldn't be here, it means a lot to her."

"It means a lot to me, too," Roy admitted. He was happy that he meant something to someone outside of work. "But don't think I didn't hear your thoughts on me and Riza's relationship."

"Just a small joke, Roy." It was certainly one that made them both laugh.

"I admire you, Gracia," he said softly as he watched the wedding party finish their pictures. "Raising Elicia all by yourself into a beautiful and strong young woman. On top of that, you never once remarried."

"I didn't remarry because I knew I'd never love another man like I did Maes," Gracia told him. "Besides, I wasn't alone. I had you and Riza, and Winry was a great big sister to Elicia. Today just proved it."

Roy could hardly dispute the mother's words, opting to respond only with a nod. Shortly after, he was swept into the procession of events that led them all to the reception, where he sat next to Riza. It was an oddly familiar feeling to Maes' wedding those twenty-five years ago. The only difference was that he wasn't giving a speech this time. Roy did, however, dance with Elicia before retiring to the bar to order a club soda. He was joined, not unsurprisingly, by Ed moments later.

"So, how've you been, fire hazard?" he asked, sipping back on a glass of wine. Roy looked at the blond in amusement as he received his club soda.

"Probably better than you, shrimp," he responded with a smirk. From his position, Roy could see Ed's automail hand tightening, like he wanted very much to strike the commissioner. "Those your kids making everyone do the limbo on the dance floor?"

"Yeah, that would be Lizzie and Lucas," Ed admitted fondly. Roy unconsciously snorted. "It's been a while since we've talked, huh?"

"A couple years. How's Eddie? And Al for that matter?"

"They're both good. How's work been going? The way the papers have been going, you guys have had a rough time of things." Roy's lips cemented themselves into a frown. If Ed was starting to worry about him and his work, then things must have been bad. Ed finished his glass and put it down on the counter. "It's not like I care much, but Winry said we should make conversation."

"Your wife's a smart one, Fullmetal," Roy told him, his eyes absentmindedly finding Winry amongst the dancing mass. She seemed to be dancing with Jonathan at the moment while her kids were acting exactly the way Roy would expect the Elric children to behave.

"You're still calling me that, huh?" Ed asked. "I haven't been Fullmetal for sixteen years."

"Somehow, you'll always be Fullmetal to me." Roy sipped on his club soda, as if to emphasize his statement. "Thanks for your help on the case, by the way."

"Yeah…" Ed said. The commissioner looked to his current companion and noticed that he was staring into space, like he was thinking about the past. Upon closer inspection, though, Roy found he was staring at the dance floor as if he'd seen a ghost. It was odd for the younger man to act that way so Roy decided he would snap the blond out of his reverie. Just before he could, however, Ed recovered. "Anyway, I should probably intervene before Lucas causes an accident or Lizzie starts making out with one of Jonathan's cousins."

"Be my guest," Roy responded, still confused as to what exactly was going on with Ed.

"I'll tell the rest of the family that you say hi." He was off his seat faster than Roy could potentially bid him any farewells. Instead, the black-haired man turned back to the bar and resumed in drinking his club soda in peace. Sure, the music continued thrumming, but Roy found that it made him oddly serene.

The peace and quiet lasted only a few more seconds before someone else approached the bar and rather loudly ordered some manner of alcoholic drink. Roy turned his head to see who the man was. The first thing he noticed was that the man looked like an older version of the groom. His nose and eyes were essentially the same shape and green of Jonathan, though his mouth looked a little different and his ears were slightly larger. This man also seemed to be of stockier build and his brown hair was beginning to gray. Roy's new companion continued to tap the bar table in synch with the music while he waited for his drink. A few seconds later, he caught sight of Roy.

"Roy Mustang, right?" the man asked. Roy was hardly surprised that this man knew him; he was hardly an unknown individual within the country. He had no idea who this man was, in any case, until he offered his hand. "Jonathan Drake Sr. I'm Jonathan's father."

"Oh, pleasure to meet you, sir," Roy responded, shaking the father of the groom's hand. Drake Sr. seemed to sigh at Roy's platitude.

"I'm surprised you'd say that to me," he said in a suspiciously melancholy voice.

"And I'm confused. What are you talking about exactly?" Roy asked. Drake's drink finally arrived and the man took it before finishing it all in one gulp. He then looked at Mustang with a nearly incredulous face.

"Oh…you really don't know, then," Drake said, his look going from incredulous to sheepish. "I'm one of the people behind the STONE project." Roy wanted to bash his head in. He hadn't exactly come to this wedding looking to discuss work. In particular, he hated talking about that damn STONE Bill.

"Are you trying to say I should blame you for my slashed funds?" Roy asked jokingly. The father obviously did not take it as one, because he continued to look rather apologetic.

"Sorry. I wasn't expecting the project to take funds away from the department, but it's not like I was the one that proposed the project in the first place," Drake said.

"Don't worry about it," Mustang assured him, finally finishing the last of his club soda. "I'm used to dealing with all this crap. There's no need to apologize for something completely beyond your control. You may have been behind the STONE project, whatever it is, but I doubt you wrote up the STONE Bill."

"No," Drake chortled out in obvious elation. "I leave the laws to the politicians. I'm just an intelligence agent through and through. Bureaucracy's not really my thing."

"Cheers to that, then!" Mustang announced proudly and they clinked their empty glasses together. Drake Sr. left right after, making a beeline for a woman he assumed was his wife. Roy turned back around and proceeded to stand up, pushing his glass across the counter to the bartender. As he stood, someone else came and sat down. He didn't bother to look at the person until she spoke.

"Won't you keep a lady company while she nurses a drink?" the woman asked in a slightly husky voice. Roy resisted the urge to laugh at what she'd said (rather, the way she'd said it) and turned his head to get a glimpse of her. Overhead, the sound of a slower paced song started up. From his quick glance, Roy discerned that she was an older woman, with long locks of brown hair that framed her face nicely. She was also wearing a mauve dress that accented her curves. What drew the most of Roy's attention was her face: it looked eerily similar to Al's, at least around the eyes, nose, and mouth, which was only offset by the little grin on her face that Alphonse Elric would never wear.

Deciding that he should answer the woman's query, Roy responded with a, "Not that interested."

"That's a shame," the woman replied. "How about a dance instead?"

"I'm not-" The woman wasn't taking no for an answer. She sprung off her chair and grabbed Roy by his arms, whirling him onto the dance floor. The commissioner was hardly interested in the activity, but not wanting to seem out of place, he decided that one dance with this strange woman wouldn't hurt. Everyone else near them was lost in their own dances anyway. "So, do you have a name?"

"Not one worth mentioning in casual conversation," she said with a flirty wink. Roy just remained stone-faced. "I sure know you, though. Roy Mustang, commissioner of the police. My children have told me all about you."

"You have kids, then?" She offered a coy smile in response, like he wasn't getting information from her that easily. "How do you know the Drakes, because I know you can't know Elicia's side of the family."

"Don't assume anything, commissioner," the woman answered. "As for myself and Mr. Drake, I guess you could say we're business partners."

"You guess? I hope you know that I'm not a big fan of cagey, bullshit answers like that one."

"Someone's getting aggressive," she giggled out. "I'd have thought you'd like a good mystery."

"I solve mysteries as a job, not as a pastime, and I certainly don't consider women to be very pleasant mysteries to solve when they hide behind their smiles." She answered that with more smiles.

"Then how about games? I know some really fun ones," she said. Roy frowned at her; her lips were still smiling, but her eyes were frozen over, glinting like steel. "Tell me, Roy Mustang, do you like to play games?"

Roy stopped, his hands sliding off the woman. Perhaps it had just been a random and innocuous statement, but the wording had been too deliberate. And Roy Mustang didn't believe in coincidences. Her words had that immediate effect of freezing him, reminding him of that little text. _Tell me, Edward Elric, do you like to play games?_ Roy's heartbeat increased and before he knew it, the woman had slipped away and vanished once more into the thick crowd, like a ghost. The commissioner just stood at the same spot, his eyes transfixed on where she'd been standing. He fought the bile in his throat down along with his memories while the other dancers whirled around him. He stayed this way until he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Are you all right, sir?" Roy's head turned in a complete daze, unfocused and muddled as his eyes locked onto the chocolate-brown of Hawkeye's. She looked concerned, no doubt due to the dumbfounded look on his face.

"I'm fine," he finally answered after a void of silence filled only by music. Riza craned her head around him, staring at the spot that the woman had just disappeared to. He followed her gaze, his mind still trapped in that single moment with that single statement.

"You look like you've seen some kind of ghost," Riza said with a chuckle, like the very thought was ridiculous. Any other time, Roy would have agreed with her, but at the moment he was more willing to admit the supernatural existed than to believe what had just happened was a part of reality.

"More like heard one, I guess," he said in response. Riza furrowed her brow in thought.

"Was it…that woman you were dancing with?" Roy had to give his steely subordinate credit for not sounding even the slightest bit jealous. "Who was she, by the way?"

"No idea. She wouldn't give me her name." Riza gave a short "hmm" as a comment, but let the issue drop from there.

"In any case, are you ready to go? Or did you want to stay a little longer?" Roy shook his head both to answer her and in an attempt to shake off the encounter he'd just had.

"No, I'll bid my farewells to the newlyweds and then we'll head back to the hotel," he answered her, tossing his car keys into her hand. "I'd like to get back early enough to prepare my presentation to the senate committee."

"I'll bring the car around." Roy nodded as she walked off, her gold dress shimmering as she walked along. He went in the opposite direction, cutting a swath through the dancing crowd until he reached Elicia Drake.

"Already planning to go, Uncle Roy?" Elicia asked. She stood up to give him a hug, which he lightly returned.

"Sorry, but I've got work to do. I can try to stop by for dinner when I have the chance, though. Jonathan, you take good care of her or you'll have me to deal with." It was a good-natured threat that he didn't really mean, but Jonathan was frightened enough to give off a nervous laugh as he shook hands with Roy. Another hug from Elicia later and he was going back in the direction Riza had gone. He had no doubts that Elicia had a happy future ahead of her.

Riza was waiting for him outside the reception area with the car. He said nothing to her as she drove off to the much cheaper hotel they were staying at. Like the trip there, they said nothing up until the point they'd dressed for bed, bidding each other good night. Not that Roy could sleep; it usually took him hours to even nod off. Sometimes it was because he was so busy thinking about the next day. Other times, Roy didn't want to fall asleep because he knew that he'd be visited by nightmares. Sometimes, though, he just couldn't help it, and his body would fall asleep against his will. This happened to be one of those nights where his body accepted the rest and was whisked off into dreamland.

Unfortunately, the dreams did visit him.

First, it started with a heartbeat, loud and pounding in his ears, a nasty rhythm that he couldn't shake. The footsteps would always come next, pounding on metal, then pavement splashed with water. His eyes weren't open yet, he couldn't see where he was going, but he knew. Next came the shots, sounding more like the sound of a cork popping than anything. Roy's sense of touch returned and he could feel the cool metal of the gun in his hands, combined with the warm blood now covering it. His body turned and his eyes opened to see the gun raising again, leveling itself at an unknown target.

The surroundings near the gun began to come into focus. He was in an alleyway with a screaming crowd just beyond it. There was also a car, coming into view. The gun steadied before it fired, its bullets hitting the first person atop the car. She fell backward and Roy turned away to the other body he had shot. Only, they were now standing, wearing Maes Hughes' face.

"Roy, why'd you let it all end that way?" He didn't want to hear it, not from someone wearing Hughes' face and speaking in Hughes' voice. So he raised the gun again and shot him. This time, the sound of the shots rang out loudly, and continued to ring in his ears. It never stopped, and that was when Roy realized that something was off.

Finally, his eyes shot open to see a light on and Riza reaching for her phone on the bedside table. Groaning to himself, Roy sat upright and flicked his own light on. Riza finally answered the phone.

"What is it, Breda?" she asked tiredly. Mustang couldn't hear the voice on the other end, but judging from the mixture of emotions that Hawkeye's face was going through, Breda couldn't have been telling her anything good. As the conversation proceeded, Hawkeye stood and began to rapidly take her pajamas off, no doubt to change. "All right, Heymans, tell Havoc to calm down. I'll be there as quickly as I can."

She ended the call right after and Mustang fully woke up. As Hawkeye made her way to her suitcase and began pulling clothes out, Roy decided to say something. "What's going on? Breda usually doesn't call."

"It appears there's been a suicide at the University of Amestris in Central," Hawkeye answered as she efficiently and professionally dressed in her work clothes.

"A suicide? That hardly seems like something to call in the middle of the night for."

"It's Van Hohenheim, sir." Those words changed Roy's demeanor entirely. Like she had, Mustang instantly started to get changed.

"I'm coming with." She didn't argue.

Like his subordinate, Mustang got dressed in record time, which wasn't that hard considering that they had only planned on staying the one night. In any case, it was easier for the both of them to just take his car, not to mention faster. In order to increase their speed, the commissioner chose to not ask Hawkeye for any information, mostly because he supposed that she didn't actually have any. The answers he wanted would have to wait until he got to Central. So, that's where they went. Though they were both silent, the car ride was no less fraught with tension until a couple hours later when they pulled up to the flashing lights and crime scene tape surrounding a rather large building on the University's campus. Breda was diligently waiting outside for them.

"Captain Armstrong's inside. He ordered no one to touch the body until you got here, sir," the burly detective informed Hawkeye. She nodded wordlessly, her lips pursed as she and Mustang passed underneath the tape and into the house. "Call came from an anonymous tip who refused to give her name. Some uniformed officers followed up on the tip and found Mr. Hohenheim. Havoc and Feury questioned the security guards, too. They didn't see anything but we did find on the security images that there was someone lurking near the building approximately around the time of death."

"When would that be?" Hawkeye asked, following after Breda's back into a large hall.

"About three hours ago. Security personnel thought it was just some fraternity brothers playing a prank near the house."

"Doubtful." Breda gave no answer, his silence agreeing with her. Finally, Mustang was able to get a full view of the body. His face tightened instantly at the sight. Van Hohenheim was hanging from the high banister atop the second floor, his neck having snapped from hanging himself. From his vantage point, the commissioner could see bruises around his neck and face. Up above, some officers were lowering the body, allowing Hawkeye to get a better look along with the medical examiner.

Mustang decided to pursue a different line of thought. He turned towards what he assumed was the living room, brightly lit by the chandelier hanging from its ceiling. It was a well-furnished room, which was hardly surprising to the commissioner. He sidestepped some of the forensics boys that were already on the scene, which had always been a far more welcome sight that when he'd been at East. As Mustang's eyes roved the room, he noticed the plate right in front of the armchair. That wouldn't have been so strange a sight, except that it was laden with what looked to be a scrumptious steak dinner. In other words, Mustang didn't feel that it was a meal someone would leave just sitting around. Either way, it was hardly enough to base an entire theory on, so Mustang continued his brief examination of the room.

It was clean and orderly, almost too much so. There didn't seem to be a single speck of dust. Mustang's eyes briefly swiveled back over to the plate setting and noticed that right next to the plate was a bookmarked novel, and the television remote sitting right on top of it. He frowned and turned back to the TV, which was currently off. Almost on autopilot, he reached out to touch the TV. It had been hours since Hohenheim had apparently committed suicide, yet the television felt almost lukewarm, like it had been used a few hours ago rather than the day prior. This situation simply wasn't adding up. Mustang went back toward the plate of food, looking over the contents of the room. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something seemed off about the arrangement of the items in the room, like something was missing, or added. The commissioner arrived back at the plate and with his coat sleeve, moved the remote aside.

"Much Ado About Nothing…" Roy murmured. He didn't consider himself an expert on literature in the slightest, but he was informed enough about Shakespeare, and the play Hohenheim was reading certainly wasn't the kind of play to make one contemplate killing oneself. Now if it had been Hamlet or anything by Sylvia Plath, that would have been a different story. Mustang's frown was now deepening into a scowl as he thought about the book in front of him. It was bookmarked, which meant that Hohenheim had definitely been reading it, and if Mustang knew only one thing about Van Hohenheim, it was that he needed glasses to read. However, the glasses were nowhere to be found, at least in his immediate vision range. Mustang turned to the forensics tech that was taking pictures. "Did you guys find any glasses?"

"No." It almost sounded like scoffing; as if the notion was ludicrous. Mustang knew better.

He didn't want to contaminate the crime scene, so he took out his gloves and slipped them on. There was next to no place to hide a pair of glasses in the room with all its perfectly placed furnishings, especially if the forensics people hadn't found them by scouring every inch of the place. That really only left one logical place left to look. Mustang bent down and gingerly moved the table aside, careful not to disturb its contents. He didn't care so much about the cushions of the couch underneath, which he almost violently whipped up.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing? !" the forensics tech yelled, suddenly indignant. Mustang ignored him until finally he found what he was looking for. Underneath the final cushion was a pair of glasses. They weren't folded up like they had been placed down, but were splayed out, as if Hohenheim had been wearing them just before he'd "killed himself". Smirking just a little, Mustang bent down and picked up the glasses. Given a closer look, he noticed that the left lens was cracked. Something had gone down here, and Roy would get to the bottom of it.

"Bag this," he commanded, handing the broken glasses to the tech. His work in that room was done.

When he emerged, he could see that the medical examiner had finished with the body and Hawkeye was talking sternly with Breda. He approached her. "Find anything interesting, sir?"

"Just enough to make me think that Hohenheim didn't commit suicide," he commented. Breda and Hawkeye exchanged brief glances.

"Good to see we're all on the same page, then," Hawkeye responded. Mustang quirked his eyebrow, but was altogether unsurprised to see that she had reached the same conclusion. "I have no idea why whoever did this wanted to make it look like suicide, but they didn't do a very good job."

"Medical examiner seems to want to disagree, though," Breda commented. "He says that all the signs are there of a suicide by hanging: snapped neck and all. Of course, he wants to do a full autopsy to be sure, but he's pretty confident."

"Yeah, well, the guy's no Knox," Havoc announced from the top of the stairs while he came down them. Armstrong looked to be right behind him. "Hohenheim's a pretty stocky guy, right?"

"I guess so, though it's hard to tell when all the dead bodies we work with get heavier," Breda responded.

"The banister shows no signs of stress, though," Havoc pointed out. Mustang followed his subordinate's finger and gave a distant examination of the banister above the stairs. It was a little hard to tell from the distance they were from it, but Roy could most definitely tell that no part of the banister was damaged. "I know these things are built to last, but there's no way a grown man of Hohenheim's weight could have lifted himself on top of that thing and thrown himself off without damaging it. Plus, he couldn't squeeze through the supports; I doubt even Ed could fit through it."

Mustang gave a small chuckle at Havoc's quip before his attentions turned to the captain of Homicide. "What's your opinion, Armstrong?"

"Given the wood examination properties passed down the-"

"Armstrong!" Mustang and Hawkeye snapped simultaneously. Armstrong stopped babbling and cleared his throat.

"Yes, er…definitely not suicide," he concluded. "I noticed a strange discoloration on the skin. I wasn't sure if it was bruising, but it was enough to make me harbor doubts."

"So, we've got physical evidence and enough conjecture to fill a small freighter," Hawkeye noted. "And let's not forget that the man has kids and grandkids. I seriously doubt he'd just kill himself and leave them behind."

"Speaking of that," Mustang said begrudgingly. "I'm sure that Ed and Al will want to know about this. Who wants to make the call?"

"Not me!" Havoc led the others in rejoining. Mustang scowled.

"Fine, I'll make the call. Just make sure that the ME doesn't move the body until I get them here." Mustang sent a final glare to the suspiciously grinning Havoc before he walked out of the house with his cellphone in hand. Before he could press the call button, Roy had to force himself to take a deep breath; this was not the kind of call he wanted to make. He wavered only a moment before calling Ed's number. It rang a couple times before Ed finally answered.

"Why the hell are you calling me so early in the morning, Commissioner Firepants?" Ed grumbled irritably.

"Come over to Central," he told the younger man. He also swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking again. "Your father's just been murdered."

"What?" It was quiet, and so devoid of the emotion Ed usually displayed.

"I need you to identify the body and give me your thoughts. Bring Al if you need to. I'll be waiting at his estate." He couldn't give Ed a chance to ask any questions. There'd be time for that later, when he got here. Mustang took another steadying breath and shook his limbs out. It was going to be a long wait.

Naturally, though, whenever it came to Ed, the wait wasn't nearly as long as one would think. It was long enough for forensics to finish all their work at the scene and for the medical examiner to start getting impatient. Hawkeye kept assuring the man, but judging from the evil glares he was getting, Mustang was fairly certain that it wasn't working. Still, most of the crime scene unit techs had only just finished packing up when Ed's bright red car raced into the nearby lot. Mustang could swear that the short-tempered man was out of the car before he'd turned it off. Al was slower to follow, looking as white as a sheet. Neither of the brothers said anything, even if both responded in different ways. Ed stormed into the hall with a rather wrathful look on his face; Al simply stood by Mustang at the entrance.

"Is he really…?" Al asked quietly.

"I'm sorry, Alphonse," Roy said back just as quietly. "I wouldn't wish this on you or anyone." Al seemed to falter just a little at the commissioner's words.

"Can we help?" Al's words were stronger this time. "I know that he's our father, and that we weren't expecting this to happen, but if dad's gone on to join mom, we want to find out who made it happen. There'll be time for grief later."

"Why do you think I called you out here?" Mustang responded. Not even meaning to, Roy put his hand on Al's back and started steering him towards where the body was. Ed was already hunched over it, practically ignoring everything and everyone else. The others were watching him with strange looks. Mustang couldn't tell if it was a sad look or an amused one.

"Al, come here!" Ed called brusquely. Al instantly obeyed his brother and came over to the body. Mustang wasn't far behind, wanting to know everything the Elric brothers did. "Look at this."

"Is that-?" Al asked in surprise. Mustang felt his brow wrinkle. From his angle, he could see that the two brothers were talking about what looked to be a bruise on his arm, a strange yellow and purple coloration. Mustang also noticed that the same discoloration was around Hohenheim's lips, though not nearly as intense.

"I'm pretty sure," Ed spat. Al looked closer at the body before nodding to his brother. The older Elric twisted around on his feet to face the officers. "It's the anesthetic we developed."

"The one used on the bank robbers?" Armstrong asked.

"One and the same, though it's definitely the weaponized version and not the one we developed explicitly."

"How can you be sure?" Hawkeye asked with a fold of her arms.

"Because of the discoloration," Al pointed out. "In our early development stage, we worked hard to remove the discoloration aspect every time the anesthetic was used. After a while, we finally got rid of it. I can only imagine that whoever weaponized it triggered it to resurface."

"That's how we know it's not ours," Ed picked up. "The anesthetic is liquid form, though. It's likely the murderer tried to slip it into his drink. Dad must have realized it and spit it out, so they used more forceful methods to knock him out before dragging him up and over. Of course, that's not what worries me…I'm more concerned that the anesthetic we developed has been used twice."

"Which also potentially connects it to the vigilante," Havoc lamented. "Chief, we can't be working all these angles at once."

"I know that," Mustang assured him. "We'll have to wait for a full autopsy to move forward on this to see if any traces of the weaponized anesthetic remains. That means we'll have to treat this as a separate case, and I want the majority of you on the vigilante case."

"What about our dad, then?" Ed asked indignantly. Mustang shot him a look that told him to shut up.

"Don't worry. I'll put someone on the case that can put forth their full resources," he assured them. "Armstrong, call Brosh to your office tomorrow morning. We're making him the lead on the Hohenheim investigation."

* * *

 **Author's Note: I debated for a VERY long time about killing Hohenheim, however, I knew it was the only way to up the stakes and make it personal. Plus, he dies in both series, so it wasn't too much of an issue. This, however, was a very fun chapter to write. There are a lot of clues and a fun, enigmatic conversation that I hope you enjoyed and will think about for the future of this story. In any case, that's all I have. I love all your reviews, though I'm sad that I didn't get many last chapter. I wonder why this finale isn't as popular…oh well. In any case, please Review and Dare to Be Silly.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Are you all ready for Chapter 4? Of course you are, it's been a month after all! Let's read!**

* * *

Chapter 4

Van Hohenheim was dead. A few hours from now, the whole world would know it. The man who had been president of the University of Amestris system for over three decades, pushing away his family and all other attachments to home had met his end. By hanging himself, no less. Not that Ed believed it for a moment. His father may have been a lot of things in his lifetime, but the elder Elric brother had always been proud to say that Hohenheim was dignified and, above all, not a coward. He wasn't about to hang himself for anything, especially when he still had grandchildren to dote on.

Whoever killed him wanted them to believe it was suicide, though. That was starting to look like one of the few facts that Ed had to go on. Well, that and the anesthetic that decided to keep popping up.

"What should we do, brother?" Al's voice was shaky. Even from a couple feet away, Ed could feel the slight onset of grief come pouring out of his brother, like it had the day their mother died. Perhaps it wasn't as intense, but Al had always been closer to Hohenheim than he had, and unless they got some answers, Ed feared the younger Elric brother would crumble.

"We move forward," he said confidently. Al looked at him in astonishment. In truth, he sounded more confident than he felt…he also felt far angrier than he sounded. Grief was no foreign concept to him, and was always something he could just push away. Instead, he'd fill himself with what he considered to be justified anger.

"And the rest of the family?"

"Let's try to get some answers first," Ed muttered. He didn't want to think about how Winry and the kids would take it. They adored their grandfather. With a sigh, Ed's eyes darted around the room to see the detectives (since he'd never consider any of them more than that) huddled together in discussion. "I can't believe I'm consulting for the department again…"

"You could look at it as a reunion," Al joked, trying to obviously relieve the tension. When Ed scowled instead, he ceased the joke. "So, the anesthetic…"

"Yep. Looks like we're going into work tomorrow." Al shrugged. Ed continued to scowl. Of course, it didn't matter to him. His family was still visiting Xing. They didn't have to hear the news yet or wonder why their father had to head into the office on a Sunday. Ed groaned at the thought and rubbed his eyes, deciding it was pointless to agonize over it. Stealing one last glance at the detectives, he jerked his head back toward the car and Al followed him.

The crime scene was just as congested as when the brothers had arrived, only now there were lights popping up in the dorm room windows, the whole thing having obviously garnered attention. Ed shook his head at the thought while he weaved through the other milling officers. His phone started buzzing in his pocket and the blond fished it out. Winry was calling, or one of the kids, but considering the way he'd taken off without saying anything, it was most likely Winry. Ed knew he'd get a mouthful later, but there were more important things at the moment than his irate wife. Exhaling another sigh, Ed moved to start the car only to hear the sound of someone putting their hands on the door. No surprise that it was Mustang.

"I'm glad I caught you before you left," he expressed. Ed quirked a lazy eyebrow.

"What do you want?" he snapped irritably. Mustang grimaced, no doubt trying to keep his composure; a fact which amused Ed.

"I've officially decided to hire you on the case despite a conflict of interest, just as consultants."

"You realize a simple phone call would've sufficed," Ed pointed out tiredly.

"Stop being an enormous asshat, Fullmetal," Mustang responded, his own tone matching Ed's. "I'd rather not waste my phone minutes making that call." Ed scoffed, acknowledging that it wasn't an unanticipated response. "In any case, the real reason I wanted to speak to you is to tell you that we've decided to report your father's death as a suicide."

"What? !" It was surprising that Al was the first to grow so indignant. Ed took longer; Mustang had always been notorious for complex plans with hidden parts and meanings. "But, dad-"

"To the media," Mustang clarified. "We all know your father was murdered but the killer may not know that we've discovered this. They obviously went to extreme lengths to make it seem like a suicide."

"You're hoping they'll let their guard down if we think of it as suicide," Ed finished, practically reading the commissioner's mind. Mustang smirked just a little. "That's just like you."

"It gets results. What are you planning to do in the meantime, consultants?"

"The anesthetic used on dad was used in your vigilante case, too," Al answered from the passenger seat. "Brother and I were planning on finding out just where that came from and who could be using it."

"All right. I'm sure Brosh will get in touch with you, but until he does, try to keep your investigation low key. Whoever our murderer is, they're very likely twisted, considering they staged a suicide. Be careful."

"Aw, Mustang, do you actually care about us?" Ed mocked sardonically. It was Mustang's chance to scoff.

"Please, do you realize how bad it would look for the department if a consultant died in the middle of an investigation, short stuff."

"Call me that again and someone else will die instead," Ed told the older man with gritted teeth. Mustang gave his new consultant a look of amusement before patting the side of the car and departing. "Bastard…"

"At least he's letting us work on the case," Al pointed out. Ed ignored that fact. He also ignored that his phone was still vibrating in his pocket. Obviously, Winry wasn't going to stop calling. "So, to the office?"

"Sure, but let's nab some breakfast at your place first, or we'll fall asleep before the sun even rises." Al concurred with his older brother.

Suppressing a yawn, Ed turned the wheels of his car rapidly, the headlights illuminating what yet remained darkened, including the fronts of the dorm buildings. Students were gathered outside the front of the various dorms, the RAs attempting to bring them inside. Ed blinked at the reflection of his lights in the windows before stopping a moment. There was a familiar face among the crowd of students; an older face. Ed shut his eyes, hoping for a moment that he was just hallucinating it. When he opened them again, the face was indeed gone, but that unsettling, sinking feeling in his stomach remained.

"Brother, I think you're blinding the co-eds," Al informed him kindly.

"Oh, right. Spaced out for a moment there," Ed lied. Al didn't call his bluff, but instead suggested that they get some coffee for the ride home. The elder brother gave his silence as agreement.

Swallowing down his uneasy feelings of dread, Ed maneuvered his car away from the University and towards the nearest twenty-four-hour coffee shop. Al was close to falling asleep, but Ed was wide awake, all manner of adrenaline flowing through his body. He wasn't about to voice these feelings to his brother or anyone else. He hadn't even confided in Winry when they left the wedding, though she had asked why he looked a little pale. His reasons for looking so had now increased tenfold.

Simply put, Ed was freaked out, and he was never one to freak out easily.

It had started at the Drake wedding when he saw that face in the crowd. _Her_ face. It hadn't been an exact match, but the face was far too uncannily similar. Ed couldn't write it off as some weird coincidence, either. He had undeniably seen the face of his mother, Trisha Elric, in the crowd. He was pretty sure that she saw him, too. Maybe that had been the point. He couldn't be sure. So, after Mustang and he had finished their conversation, he tried to wade into the dance floor and learn the truth. The woman with his mother's face disappeared before he even could.

Had he just imagined it? Ed's short search had turned up nothing but a sense of extreme discomfort and a very immediate and unyielding need to get his family out of there. Winry said nothing, but had cast him a number of disparaging looks. He didn't respond to either those or his kids' never-ending queries. Ed wanted to push the entire thing from his mind, pretend that it was simply his mind playing tricks on him. He thought he could do so successfully…until now.

Because standing amidst the students had been Trisha Elric. Considering that his father had been the one murdered, Ed knew that the likelihood of the two things not being connected was low. That was enough to give him the adrenaline rush of a lifetime. When his car turned back on the highway toward East City, Ed debated about telling his brother what he had seen. However, when he noticed that Al looked far too lost in thought, he decided against it. There was nothing he could currently do about this doppelganger of his deceased mother at the moment. So, why should he feel the need to lay that extra burden on his brother?

Ed gripped the steering wheel tighter and took in a deep breath. All he could do now was focus on his father's murder, and in particular the deadly anesthetic that they had developed and was now being used against others. If that investigation happened to lead to the Trisha look-alike, then he'd have some questions for her, but until then he had to keep his head in the game. Steeling his mind with his decision, Ed settled himself into a comfortable place and completed the journey to East City. Once there, he and Al ate quickly at his home before driving themselves over to the obviously deserted office.

There were a few cars that remained in the parking lot, most likely for security guards on the night watch, but the area was otherwise empty. It was extremely early on Sunday morning, after all. Not even Ed, himself, would head in to the office on a Sunday morning, and Winry had always told him he was practically married to his work (which he'd always argue was untrue). Ed did note, though, that two cars sitting in the lot were ultimately very familiar to him, considering one of them belonged to their boss and the other to Dr. Gold who probably went into work more than Al did. Neither one surprised him and he followed his brother into the corporation's headquarters. The night watchman let them through without a problem.

"Do we have any ideas on where to start?" Al asked the second they stepped into their darkened office. He didn't even take the chance to flick the lights on. Ed nearly scoffed again and flicked the lights on himself. Other parts of the lab, mostly the computers, began to hum to life as the fluorescents above them did so as well. Al had already whipped his own lab coat over his clothes and was in the process of throwing Ed's to him.

"Russell mentioned something the other day when Armstrong and Feury stopped by, but I think we should do some other checking first before we go approaching the theory his observation created," Ed answered his brother, slipping his own lab coat on. Al hummed in assent, walking over to one of their computers.

"Ugh, they still haven't cleaned out their inboxes!" Al expressed exasperatedly. Ed frowned, joining his brother at the computer. "I know they've only been back a day, but the company's starting to send mail to us so we can tell them to clean their crap up."

"Calm down, Al," Ed said calmly. Al looked up in surprise before letting out a laugh.

"Sorry, brother," he apologized with a sheepish rub to his neck. "I must be a little tired."

"Yeah, usually I'm the one cursing people and being told to calm down, not the other way around," Ed chuckled out. This caused Al to look even more embarrassed. "Besides, you know Russ and Fletch have never been good about checking their e-mails, especially when they're working on a project. And we're no better, either."

"Right…You're right," Al admitted, stepping back from the computer. "I guess I'm just…on edge…I never thought dad would be murdered. And just knowing that he's gone…it makes me numb…like it's mom all over again. I'm not sure I can deal with it."

Ed's brow creased in concern for his brother. He was also feeling the same as Al, though for entirely different reasons; reasons that he would not share with his brother quite yet. "When mom died, we were young and it was a complete freak accident that was tragic and no one could make sense of. It's different this time, Al. Dad's death was deliberate murder, and we're old enough to figure it out this time. Dad…I don't think he'd want us to grieve too much. Not until it's all over."

Al absorbed his brother's words with closed eyes. Ed continued to watch him until he nodded. "Yeah. Let's solve a murder, then."

"That's the spirit, Al," Ed said with a brief, but tight, one-armed hug to his brother. "Now, go collect every sample of the drug that we have so we can do a visual comparison to our reports."

"On it!" Al raced off to the back of the lab. Ed put out a tired and slightly bereaved smile, allowing himself to feel those intense emotions for just a moment. Once the moment had passed, he composed himself once more and turned to the computer again. Just before he was about to click on the inventory report, his phone vibrated again. Ed took it out and, with a sigh, saw that Winry was still calling.

He chose to answer this time.

"About damn time, Ed!" she screeched the instant he pressed the accept button. Her voice was so loud that it echoed across the empty office, making it sound like there were a hundred Winrys there. "I've been calling you for hours but you seem to be ignoring my calls."

"I've been busy," Ed defended, though he knew it was a pretty weak defense. Winry let him finish it anyway, even if he could practically feel her impatience through the phone. "Dad was murdered."

"Wait…what?" Winry already sounded more freaked out than he was. "Your father's dead? You're sure?"

"Pretty sure. I saw the body, Winry. That's why I haven't been answering your calls. I'm just trying to process all of this. Commissioner Charcoal also hired Al and I onto the case. Probably the smartest thing he's done in the last sixteen years."

"So, when do you think you'll be home? Eddie and Lizzie have been up a while and wondering what's going on. I've managed to keep Lucas sleeping like a rock but that's only a matter of time." For once, Winry wasn't screeching. She sounded genuinely concerned and Ed never felt more grateful than he did now for his wife's fortitude.

"I'm honestly not sure," he answered her. "Al and I are at the office right now running some leads down. Once we have a handle on things, I'll be home."

"What about the kids?" Ed frowned. In the sixteen years since Eddie had been born, Ed had tried to keep distance between them and the realm of death he used to have a foot in. He had been successful and his children had never been exposed to that world or worried that their father might not come home. Now, those two worlds were about to collide and how everything flowed from here hinged on Ed's decision.

"Tell them what happened. Better to hear it from us than the news." Winry made a noise of assent over the phone and Ed felt he could breathe just a little easier; his wife had always known the right words to say.

"Go get 'em, Ed," were her last words before the line disconnected. Ed watched the phone again before subconsciously nodding in determination. Al arrived back at the desk with the inventory sheet and a tray of the anesthetic vials. Ed cleared his head and turned back to the computer to bring up the reports.

"I did a count. We have about twenty-four vials remaining of the original thirty-six, though considering the anesthetic is already in the distribution stage, I'm not sure how much our inventory will actually help."

"I don't care about the mass distribution of the drug we produced. That'll just be the exact version of our drug replicated. I'm wondering who turned it into a drug that leads to paralysis and that could have only been done by taking our own stuff. Now, let's see here…" Ed had pulled up all the department inventory charts to see just who had borrowed a vial of the anesthetic.

Most other departments borrowed the anesthetic for application purposes. Since AlChemistry hardly did any human drug testing, that was left up to other departments which meant that other areas of Mugear and Company would check it out. Then there were the straight up eight vials used for the mass production process. All in all, Ed noted as he scrolled down, that meant a grand total of eleven vials had been checked out of inventory and had been accounted for elsewhere in the company. So why was an extra vial missing?

"Russell's theory may hold some water," Ed murmured under his breath. Al heard him.

"There's a discrepancy?" Al asked. Ed scooted aside to let Al see the evidence. His brother's frown got progressively deeper as he scanned the page. No doubt he disliked this whole situation as much as he did. Whoever had taken that lone vial was deplorable in both their methods and, most likely, their intentions. Al began to nod as he reached the ending. "How did this happen? We keep this thing under tight lock and key. Only us and the Tringhams have access to our inventory."

"And Mugear, don't forget that," Ed reminded him. He was pretty sure their boss was beyond reproach in any case. "Either way, Russ and Fletch wouldn't go stealing stuff, so that leaves basically no one."

"Unless…they weren't aware they were involved in the theft," Al theorized. Ed barely stopped his eyebrow from raising, willing to hear out Al's idea. After all, he had come up with numerous theories himself that sounded crazy at the time when he worked at the police. "Okay, a lot of times, whoever's taking the sample has to visit the lab to check out the samples. What if someone visited the lab to get another product-"

"-and stole the anesthetic with it. That's genius!" Ed exclaimed, turning back to the computer. Of course, he wouldn't mention that he'd forgotten what Russell had told him. Now, he wanted to confirm it before expounding further. "I'm glad you're around, Al. When Armstrong and Feury asked me on Friday I noticed the discrepancy but I didn't double check at the time. Now that we've confirmed everything, I know what to look for…right there."

"Dr. Gold? !" Al almost shouted. "When was this?"

"Russell said that a couple weeks ago, Dr. Gold spoke with you, so I figured he must have withdrawn something from us. The report says that he took a small compound, but that's also when the Red Tincture unit got reported as missing. The computer must have logged it in but we didn't catch it because it wasn't strictly official."

"He did…I remember that day…" Al mused in concern. "That's when he took it and I was the means to an end. So, the question becomes what did he do to it?"

"What Dr. Gold does best: weaponized."

"Do you think he had something to do with dad's death?" That gave Ed some pause. Dr. Gold may have been a prime candidate for the cover of Mad Scientist's Weekly, but he had never been a bad guy. And he certainly wouldn't leave behind such obvious evidence. If anything, he was working for someone else. If he wasn't, Ed still wasn't at the point of suspecting him; the real suspect was whoever was sold or acquired the weaponized version of the product. Still, Al's question warranted an answer.

"Probably not," he started to say, "but I think there's still a couple questions to ask him."

"Like why we didn't catch the missing vial in the system?" Al asked. Ed rolled away from the computer, standing as he did so. He couldn't give Al an answer, simply because there were more questions that sprung from that one Al had asked. They hadn't found it; every damn vial had been accounted for except for the sudden "lost" one. That had been the one that Dr. Gold must have logged in to possibly account for it, just in case. It had been suspicious when Ed discovered it on his own, yet when he hadn't been able to question Gold about it, he pushed it away.

Now, the coincidences were too great that he had to question him. All Ed had to do was push that woman from his mind.

"Let's go," said the older brother sternly. Al's lips tightened into a thin line and he nodded.

Both of the brothers tossed their lab coats off and left the lab, making sure to lock it behind them. The halls of Mugear and Company were still pretty silent, with only a soft nascent glow lining the way forward. It was enough to walk by but gave an almost haunted feeling to their trek. The elevator trip was no different; no music was playing at the time so all they heard was the hum of the elevator traveling upward to the Weapons Research and Development Division. Unsurprising to Ed was the fact that the light was still on there. He didn't check if Al was still following him before the older blond forged into the maze of tables and machines.

He heard the good doctor before he saw him.

"It may not be the same as the 2075 model, but it's still good!" Gold chuckled out, his comment being followed by a clanking noise. "Doctor Elric, give me a hand will you?"

"No thanks," Ed responded with a slight snarl. It was already creepy enough to know they'd been observed coming in here; he wasn't about to help the guy build a doomsday weapon or something similar (judging by the project Gold looked to be working on). Gold coughed a bit to clear his throat and straightened, a few wisps of his hair falling into his face as a pair of bangs.

"Oh, well," he lamented in an emotionless tone. "What can I do you for, doctors?"

"Remember that talk we had about appropriating medical supplies and turning them into weapons?" snapped Ed. His tone had no effect on the doctor, except for making his toothy grin slip a little, hiding just a bit of his golden tooth. "Al, do you remember?"

"Wait, are you talking about the Red Tincture/Water board meeting?" Ed would have slapped himself at his brother's inability to pick up on the vibe of an interrogation if he wasn't in the middle of one.

"Doctor Elric, you know that I can't answer a question you want answered if you don't ask it directly." Ed thought for a moment about punching the guy in the face, maybe replacing all of his teeth with gold, but decided against that particular violent notion. He was a consultant, but he could still be arrested on assault charges. Instead, the blond decided on a less drastic, but hopefully still effective, method. He grabbed Dr. Gold's chair and dragged him over to the only powered computer. The doctor said nothing as Ed brought up the data that he and Al had just been poring over.

"Mind explaining how a vial of Red Tincture went missing?" Ed spat testily. Dr. Gold blinked once…twice…and then moved his glasses further down his nose to look at the screen.

"Looks to me like you boys have an inventory control problem."

"Stop jerking me around!" Ed yelled, slamming his hands on the desk, causing the entire computer to jump. Al reached forward, as if to stop his brother, but Ed was in the zone. He wasn't going to let Al stop him when he'd gotten this riled up. He had _missed_ this. "Look, Gold, we know you took a vial the day you checked out another sample, and judging from the reports, you and your tech junkies here at R and D hacked in and made it look like we lost a vial. Too bad you're idiots who logged the lost vial at the same time you were getting the sample."

Dr. Gold said nothing, obviously being very good at concealing his tells. He continued to blink, his crisscrossed eyes seeming all the freakier as he did so. Finally, he took in a short breath. "Well, you got me!"

Al seemed surprised that Gold would crack so easily. Ed was as well, but he didn't show it as readily as his brother, only stepping back and etching his scowl deeper into his face. Gold spun around on his chair while Ed scrutinized him. For a moment, he thought the guy was nuttier than a fruitcake until the doctor stopped his spinning and dropped the congenial smile from his face.

"You wouldn't let me at that brilliant anesthetic of yours," he confessed. "It had so much potential as a weapon; that's why I proposed the Red Water Project. It's not my fault that you couldn't see the fascinating applications of the product."

"Fascinating? !" screeched Al. "It's horrifying! That anesthetic was made to save people's lives! We didn't make it for any other purpose. That you retooled it to make it paralyze its victims is sickening!"

"Now, now, no one said that I managed to weaponized it," Gold said with a meaningless wave of his hands. His smile was back while Ed watched the scene between his brother and the doctor in almost growing horror. "I admit that I stole a vial when I last visited you boys to take a different product, but my intentions were pure."

"I seriously doubt that," voiced Ed. "Look, your little weapon, your Red Water, has hit the streets and it's starting to kill people off, or at the very least be used in multiple homicides. Best intentions be damned!"

Dr. Gold's grin dropped off again, making him look all the more eerie. He appeared to swallow something like air before he took his glasses off. With his lab coat, he began to wipe them down and Ed could see all the wrinkles that lined his eyes until he placed them back on. "I cannot be responsible for human life or how the product is used once it leaves the confines of my laboratory."

"What?" Ed spat, almost in a deadpan. "You take no responsibility for human life? !"

"My job as the head of WR&D is to adequately prepare the nation against all form of attacks. If not me, someone else would do it. I am acting as nothing more than a patriot, serving a country that's at war. Do you even realize the number of homegrown terrorists that have cropped up in the country in the last two decades alone? It's staggering, and the first line of defense against them are people like me."

"That's just crazy! Right, brother?"

Ed couldn't answer. All he could do was stare, transfixed on the doctor. _A country that's at war._ It was such a common rhetoric, but all it served to enhance was the past. Dr. Gold was turning out to just be another Archer. Ed licked his drying lips. "Who…Who ordered you to do this?"

"I'm not authorized to say that, now am I?" the doctor answered cheekily. Al was flicking his eyes between the two while Ed's brain worked furiously. He almost thought he could actually hear the gears in his head grinding together. Then he realized that a door was opening somewhere, and the doctor was speaking again. "He can, though. Can't you, Mr. Mugear?"

"Can I what, Dr. Gold?" Ed had hardly heard the burly proprietor step through the door and approach them, so he turned around slowly to make sure he didn't hit him, wherever he was. As it turned out, Mugear had stopped just a few feet short of them, clutching two cups of coffee in his hands. He moved forward a little slower, handing one of the cups off to Doctor Gold. No one spoke a moment and Mugear took a brief sip of coffee before asking again, "What exactly can I do?"

"Well, the Elric boys were just wondering-"

"Who authorized the transition of our anesthetic into a weapon?" Ed asked abrasively. Mugear's hand drew back as he continued to sip on his coffee. He then lowered the cup and licked his lips.

"I did," he answered simply. Ed's eyes focused themselves into slits and he was ready to lash out, when his brother beat him to the punch.

"The board ruled in favor of not weaponizing it!" Al screamed. "That was the agreement: Mugear and Company could have sole distributing rights over Red Tincture so long as its chemical compound remained unchanged."

"Correction, we were not allowed to weaponized it for mass production," Mugear pointed out, sounding very much like a lawyer. "We didn't. I needed a defense contract, and since no one had produced anything like this on the market, I capitalized on the opportunity. That's why Dr. Gold was in Central over the weekend."

"Exactly how much product did you produce?" Ed asked coldly. He wasn't going to fight them on the fact that it had been produced; that was a bridge long crossed. Damage control was all that mattered now.

"Maybe ten units, right doctor?" Dr. Gold nodded with a grin. Internally, Ed breathed a small sigh; that meant most of the vials had already been used. "We had no intention of selling it anywhere but the Department of Defense and only a few agencies even took a look at the product."

"Do you have a list of these agencies?" Mugear looked at him suspiciously by this point, obviously due to the enormous wealth of questions he was firing off.

"What's this all about, Edward? You usually don't care what happens to your product after it leaves your lab," he asked with a touch of concern in his voice. Ed opened his mouth to answer truthfully, but something held him back. If he blabbed about what had really happened to his father, Mustang's media ruse would be for naught. He curbed his tongue and decided to bend the truth…just a little.

"Your weaponized product has been used in a string of murders recently. Commissioner Mustang called Al and I in to work as consultants on the case," Ed answered his boss. Dr. Gold gave no response to the news, but Mugear looked almost a little sickened.

"Well, that's…that's just…" Al stepped forward in order to stand right before the large man and look him straight in the eyes.

"Mr. Mugear," he began softly, but sternly, "right now, lives hang in the balance. We need to know who had access to this product and for how long."

"Right…of course, boys…" Mugear looked lost, his coffee cup practically falling out of his hand. "Let's…mmm…Let's go to my office."

Ed impatiently motioned for the older man to lead the way, which he did, and the two brothers followed after. The older brother spared only a momentary scathing glance back towards Dr. Gold, who was disgruntledly picking up a phone, then he turned away and paid him no more mind. Mugear was certainly in a hurry, though, as he raced through the now brightened hallways to reach the executive elevator that would take them to his office. He certainly seemed highly agitated as he swiped his key card quickly and repeatedly jammed the button to take him upstairs. Ed refrained from rolling his eyes and simply waited, albeit slightly impatiently, for the elevator to take them to the top floor.

The doors soon opened to reveal the relatively swanky room that Mugear called his office. Brightly lit by the sun now streaming in, Ed took a moment to examine the space. It was heavily decorated, but not overly so. Mostly it was memorabilia from back home, but here and there were various certificates or awards that were embellished in plaques and hung up on the wall. Also of note were the pictures that dotted the landscape of the office: there were pictures of Mugear with famous charity organizations, his family, and even a number of politicians whose campaigns he likely supported with his wealth. Most impressive about the room, however, was the giant glass window that framed his desk and looked over the vastness of East City.

Mugear wasn't interested in looking at the horizon, however, and was already at his computer, clearly bringing up a master list of something. Ed noticed two chairs in front of the desk that looked comfortable, but he chose not to sit. Mugear wasn't sitting either.

"So, we shipped all ten units to various agencies," Mugear said. He was perspiring a little, as though the situation was more stressful than he would have liked. Ed wasn't surprised, considering the man could almost be considered an accessory to murder. "The three military branches took one unit each, but considered it too inhumane and shipped it back within a day or two. The DOD took a few units, about three, which they recently turned back over to us at the meeting on Friday. The remaining four units were taken by the intelligence agency who wanted to use their own scientists to evaluate it. Their liaison picked it up about a week ago."

"You mean they've had that killing machine for over a week? !" Al sounded positively horrified at the notion.

"It's worse than I imagined, actually," Mugear admitted, now taking a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. "They were scheduled to only have three days with it."

Al started to practically hyperventilate, so Ed put a hand on his back to get him to calm himself down. Then he turned to Mugear and, with practically clenched teeth, asked, "Who was the liaison that met with you and has he made any contact?"

"None…I would remember," Mugear assured him. "As for the name, it says here that his name is Jonathan Drake Sr."

Al stopped his hyperventilating to snap a look over to his brother. Ed was already close to feeling his stomach drop out, but he swallowed it down to pull his phone out. "Don't tell anyone else about this but the police." Mugear nodded fervently while Ed finished bringing up Mustang's number and dialed it.

"Fullmetal…haven't gotten a call from you this early in forever," the commissioner answered tiredly. He sounded like he'd been up all night.

"Check out Drake Sr.," Ed told him. There was a small clatter on the other end.

"Elicia's father-in-law?" Mustang asked in astonishment. "He's in East City, though, isn't he?"

"I'm not saying he's responsible, dumbass," Ed snapped. "I'm saying he acquired four vials of the anesthetic that aren't accounted for, the weaponized version. So, check him out and see what pops back."

"All right, I'll put Armstrong and Feury on it," Mustang finally conceded. "Oh, and don't call me dumbass again, you little shrimp."

"Call me shrimp again and I'll-damn, bastard hung up." Ed put his phone away.

"Now what, brother? Should we look into the status of the other units?" Al asked.

"Nah, leave it to the police," Ed said lazily. "For now, I've gotta go tell the kids what happened."

"Good luck."

"Yeah…if only that would help."

Al said nothing else, but gratefully accepted the ride back to his house. Ed promised to update him if anything should happen and began the half hour journey back to Resembool. Winry was waiting to open the door by the time he stepped out of the car. She pulled him into a hug the second he stepped onto the porch. Ed hugged her back, grateful that she was still being strong. Not that Ed wanted to cry or anything, but his current state of exhaustion was highlighting the fact that his father was gone…and his killer was still out there. He gripped his wife tighter as that rage filled him, but it abated when he felt someone else hugging him.

"Is it true?" Lizzie sniffled. "Is Grandpa Hoho gone?" Ed swallowed. How did you talk to a kid about all this, even when he experienced it himself? Ed put his hand onto Lizzie's hair and began to stroke it. He then looked up and saw Eddie in the doorway, holding Lucas to his side. His mouth was tightened, but he remained strong enough to give his father a nod. Ed separated from his two ladies and gave a sad but tired smile.

"Let's go inside."

* * *

Funeral planning was exhausting, Ed soon found out. When his mother had died, Granny Pinako had handled all the arrangements while Hohenheim had been on business. Now, it was up to him. It didn't help that the police wouldn't release the body until the case was solved, even with Mustang's influence. Then there was the positive deluge of calls from those who knew him over his long career. It became so maddening that he turned his cell phone off and disconnected the phone after Lizzie had yelled at one of them to mind their own business. She also used a few expletives, but thankfully Winry wasn't around to hear those.

By late night, the kids were exhausted and Winry had ushered them all to bed while he fell asleep on the couch, both his mind and body thoroughly worn out. He didn't even have any dreams, until a sudden ringing invaded his ears. He figured that it must be part of a dream, because he could still remember unplugging the phones. It was only when it wouldn't stop that Ed realized Winry had left her cell on the table. He awoke and reached over to answer with a brisk, "Yeah?"

"Mr. Elric? Edward?" Ed thought he recognized the voice but was still too groggy to identify it. "Sorry if I woke you. This is Detective Brosh, you might remember me. I tried calling you but I couldn't get through until Captain Armstrong gave me your wife's number. Is this a bad time?"

"No, I'm just a little tired. Commissioner Crapsack said you'd be calling," Ed told the familiar detective. He stood a stretched a little. "You're working my dad's case, right?"

"Yeah. I wanted to ask you some questions, to help me get a handle on things. Could you come down to the East City station? I'm heading there now to pick up the forensics evidence that was sent over," Brosh informed him.

"No problem. I can meet you there in half an hour."

"Perfect! See you then." Brosh then ended the call. Ed yawned loudly and placed Winry's phone back down. He debated about telling her where he was gone, but after a quick wash-up, decided against it. She'd forgive him later.

Feeling rejuvenated, Ed made a quick change of clothes and headed out the door. The trip back to East City was quicker than the one the day before. It helped that he hadn't been up all night. Not much later, he pulled into the still bustling lot of the East PD. For a second, Ed marveled at how unchanged the place was since he had worked there. In a small way, it almost felt good to be back. All too quickly he heard Brosh calling his name from the steps. Ed moved to join him.

"It's been a while, huh, Edward?" he asked congenially.

"Sure has," Ed replied with a chuckle. "You're a detective in Homicide up at Central, huh?"

"Just got promoted, actually. I think the Commissioner's using such a high profile case to test me, but I will solve it."

"I've got no doubts. How's Maria?" Ed asked as the two proceeded up the steps.

"She's good, and the kids are, too," Brosh answered but Ed could sense that he was ready to get down to business. "I spent yesterday filling myself in about the case. My sympathies, but I did have some questions. Basic stuff, mostly. Like, did your father have any enemies?"

"If he did, they were probably a bunch of crusty, old University board members who wouldn't know how to stab someone with a pen, much less kill someone in cold blood," Ed remarked.

"I thought as much, but I had to ask. Follow up question, though: was your father into anything different lately? Like a cult or some other threatening activity."

"Not that I know of, but Al was closer with him than I was." Brosh nodded, though Ed noted it was just one of those nods people would give to say something while saying nothing. Neither of them was gleaning much from the conversation. The two turned to head into the forensics lab and Ed caught the faint whiff of home. Even if it was just for a moment, he was back again. Even if some other kid with a huge pair of glasses was where he used to be, he had been able to step inside once more.

"I'm also in the process of getting your father's financial statements, but it may take some time."

"Is that you, Ed?" boomed a loud voice across the lab. Ed grinned when he saw the hulking form of Darius striding over with a clipboard in his hand. "Been a long time. How've you been?"

"I've had better days. Where's Heinkel?" Ed asked. Darius smirked and placed the clipboard down before slapping the younger man on the back. Ed noticed a badge hanging from his coat that put him at Head of the Forensics Department, which made sense since Marcoh had retired years earlier.

"Out in the field. We caught a real nasty murder last night," Darius lamented. "I've been working the paperwork for it on my end all morning. Ricky there was supposed to have your stuff ready by now, but he's no you."

"That's okay. I can wait a little longer," Brosh told the man. Darius grunted and went back into the lab, leaving his clipboard behind.

"Ah! Hey, Darius-" Ed started to say when he picked up the clipboard. Then he saw what it said.

Normally, Ed wouldn't have cared about a grisly scene with his father's murder on the table. This whole thing was anything but normal, however, and Ed no longer believed in coincidence.

Because written on the form was the victim's name and cause of death.

Because Jonathan Drake Sr. was found shot dead three times in a phone booth on First and Elton.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Dun dun dun! That's right, in case you haven't realized, it's the same phone booth and cause of death as Hughes. What's going on? Well, just wait. The middle of this chapter was very difficult because I had screwed something up between the end of chapter 2 and the middle portion here so I had to backtrack, align it with chapter 2 as best as possible and then go back and change that chapter all before I posted it. Anyway, the next two chapters are probably some of the best chapter work in this story. Look forward to them. See you next month. Until then, Review, pass the word on and Dare to Be Silly.**


	5. Chapter 5

**As of this posting, I am very happy to announce that I have officially posted over one million words on this site! That's right: 1,000,000! In just seven years! Yay! Go me! More important, time for Chapter 5 so that maybe we can support 1,000,000 more!**

* * *

Chapter 5

"Commissioner Mustang, you have requested to stand before the Senate Intelligence Committee in regards to the STONE Bill, which is to be voted on next week. Is this correct?" called the man sitting in the middle seat of a panel of senators. Mustang was looking at all of the self-important senators staring down at him, judging him. He could already tell from the question, and the way in which it was asked, that these blowhards had no intention of listening to him. He still felt he had to try.

"That is correct," Mustang responded stoically. As he answered, his eyes continued to rake over the panel. Ather was sitting next to the man in the center; the commissioner had a feeling he'd recused himself from being the head of the committee for the day to make this whole thing impartial. Roy also recognized some other politicians, but no one of any true note. Some press members were seated behind him, but the only person that caught the commissioner's interest was the black-haired woman in a rather smart suit that he knew as Lyra, the head of National Intelligence.

"What in particular have you called this committee for?"

"I don't think you need a crash course in finance, so I'd imagine that you already know why I'm here," Mustang said tersely. He wasn't about to play Cops and Idiots with these people. "The STONE Bill is a series of laws that I, myself, cannot condone for the continued safety of this country."

"For the purposes of this rather impromptu hearing, could you please specify to what you are referring?" the temporary head of the committee asked. Mustang was losing his patience, but the expression on his face or in his body language never changed.

"I run a police department that employs over five hundred uniformed officers and detectives across the four corners of the country as well as Central City itself. They work countless man hours with outdated technology for ridiculously little pay compared to what they produce for this nation. These cops are harassed and judged by the press and all forms of social media whether they solve a case or not. In simple words, they toil endlessly to keep you safe." Here, Mustang took a breath along with a steady sip of water. All eyes in the room remained on him as he did so.

"What do they get in return?" he questioned. "They get a legislation that wants to take away even more of the crap budget they already operate on, so they can go into those dark, scary places you would never go into, probably alone, because the department can no longer afford their partner. Why is this? Because the STONE Bill wants to siphon more money away from the police department and filter it into the nation's intelligence agencies for some ambiguous project that the general populace will probably never know anything about.

"Understand me, ladies and gentlemen of this committee, I have nothing but the highest level of respect for the intelligence community. The work they do abroad to keep the country safe is nothing more than magnificent. But that is talking about the situation of our country _abroad_. I'm talking about our country at home. Spies and officers of the Intelligence Agency cannot protect our citizenry from a whacked killer that decides to pick up a knife and start butchering people. My officers can. They can track down psychopaths such as that. If the STONE Bill passes, you will cripple the structure that makes up my department and prevent us from doing our jobs; the very jobs that ensure you're not the next target. I am not asking for a repeal, merely a careful and calculating gaze at the clauses in the bill to ensure that our country's safety and security from within is kept intact."

Having finally finished saying his piece, Mustang relaxed his body and took a half-step back. He quickly took another sip of water as he watched the senators mutter amongst themselves. Ather, to his surprise, was hardly taking part in the conversation while the others bickered and concurred amongst themselves. The commissioner secretly took a brief look down at his watch to see how much time he had wasted here thus far. When his eyes swiveled back to the front, the senators were just turning back to face him.

"Commissioner Mustang," the senator in charge began, "we understand the majority of your grievances as you've stated to this committee, however, perhaps your view has become distorted and short-sighted in recent years." Mustang resisted the urge to scoff, just knowing he was about to receive a heaping pile of bullshit. "The aim of the STONE Bill is to protect our country, particularly at large, not just thanks to some domestic struggles. This country, our country-"

"-is a country practically surrounded by four major superpowers all looking to take a piece of Amestrian pie. Forgive me if I've already heard the rhetoric before," Roy snapped, cutting the man off and hardly caring. "In fact, let me tell you about where I first heard that rhetoric."

"I'm afraid this committee was not called to hear about this," the senator said frantically. "Look, commissioner, you strike me as a rather intelligent man and Senator Ather himself has expressed that to this committee multiple tim-"

"Actually, I think the committee does need to hear this," Mustang countered. His face remained impassive, but his voice echoed and called all attention to it. "Let me take you back sixteen years ago. Frank Archer was a well-respected cop, a chief even, who believed just the way you do. He believed that our country was at war with the nations that surrounded us and needed defending. It was a noble and admirable goal until he decided that the best course of action in defending our country was to blow it up. Your intelligence community wasn't exactly able to pick up on his intentions, but through boots on the ground, old-fashioned police work, we were able to put a stop to it before more lives could be taken."

"That's all well and good," the lead senator interjected, "but let's remind you that Archer also took the life of our president at the time before you could stop him."

Mustang's lips tightened, but he covered it up by taking another sip from his water. He knew he had to very carefully consider how to answer, given all of the senators' eyes on him. "Yes, he did, but that's not the point. I'm worried about what that similar line of thought can lead to. I'm also worried that transferring those budgetary resources will not benefit this country's citizens."

"Mr. Must-I'm sorry, Commissioner Mustang," said a female senator at the end of the bench. "I can understand your points, but you're overlooking a very key factor: the passage of time. The situation outside our country has grown increasingly and distressingly unstable, just take a look at Drachma in recent weeks. You talk of the presence of your police force, yet you've been unable to catch a single vigilante for months."

Somehow, Roy knew that the hearing was going to come down to this and he forced himself to suppress a rather disgruntled groan from it. "The vigilante isn't the subject of this hearing, is it? Suffice it to say that it's difficult to catch a man when he's intercepting other cases that we have to solve."

"Perhaps your department has a leak, then," the female senator pointed out. "I, for one, would feel uneasy about giving more funds to a department that's too busy chasing its own tail."

"Fellow senators, maybe we're all going about this the wrong way." Mustang's eyes snapped over to Ather, who had finally had the dignity to speak. He looked just as shrewd and calculating as ever, something the commissioner admired, but remained wary of. "Commissioner Mustang brings up valid points worth thinking on, but perhaps this meeting was a little premature. The vigilante is an unexpected variable that throws the usual balance of power between the police department and the intelligence agencies into disarray."

"What are you suggesting, Senator Ather?" asked the leader of the hearing.

"Reschedule this hearing for after Commissioner Mustang has had a chance to restore the balance of power," Ather suggested, as though it were obvious. "Why don't we reconvene this committee next week before the vote? That will give the commissioner time to clean things up and elucidate the situation."

"Agreed. Commissioner Mustang, you have one week." With a single bang of what seemed to be a gavel, the committee was adjourned. The senators at the bench began gathering their things and Roy took it as the ultimate cue to leave. He turned around and grabbed his own briefcase off the desk before heading for the entrance. His irritation must have shone through in his demeanor because any reporters that seemed to want to question him abruptly halted in their advance. The only person who didn't seem to mind was Lyra, who Roy saw approaching on the edge of his vision.

"That could have gone better for you," she said once they emerged into the hallway. Roy snuck a quick glance to the woman at his side as they began to leave the building. She was young, or at the very least a decade younger than him, with short-cut black hair and a demeanor that said she was undeniably in charge. Lyra (which was, for some reason, the only name he knew her by) was every bit the smart and advantageous politician she had to be in her role as the Director of National Intelligence. On any other day, Mustang would have greatly appreciated her advice and intelligence. Right now, he was miffed at her.

"Not now, Lyra," he grunted out brusquely. Lyra continued alongside him.

"Oh, don't be that way, Mustang," Lyra said with a fake chuckle at the end. "I don't have control over these sorts of things."

"You don't, do you?" he asked irritably. "Then why don't you tell me what this little project of yours is for and why it needs the support of the STONE Bill to go through."

"You know I can't divulge national secrets about intelligence initiatives like that," the woman admonished him. "Just like you can't divulge certain stings or operations to me. It wouldn't be prudent."

"Then we have nothing left to talk about," Mustang told her, prematurely ending the conversation. He picked up the pace, the exit from the Capitol building clearly in sight. He was just past its doors when he heard the undeniable clack of heels that told him Lyra was catching up. Seconds later, he felt his jacket being unceremoniously tugged on.

"Look, Mustang, I can't tell you much," Lyra said quietly, like she wanted no one else to hear. "I have to take orders, too, you know. What I can say is that the STONE Bill isn't about wrecking your budget, but the initiative does have to do with the department in and of itself."

"What the hell does that mean?" he asked, a little louder than perhaps Lyra would have liked.

"Keep it down. All I'm saying is, get your house in order, or you may have more problems than a slashed budget." Mustang didn't bother asking what she meant by that, knowing that he wasn't going to get any more out of her. He gave a quick grunt towards her and then stole away down the stairs leading from the building. He trusted Lyra, in a sense, but her words were a bunch of cryptic nonsense and didn't make _any_ sense at any rate. His house _was_ clean. That was the whole point of the last sixteen years. Therefore, Lyra's threat or evaluation or whatever it was held no water. It almost seemed like something she was told to say. Lyra had always been good at taking orders, though she could certainly think outside of the box from time to time; it was what put her in the prime position for director.

Suddenly, Roy's phone rang and he answered it. "Rose, it's rare for you to call me when I'm out of the office. What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I usually wouldn't, but you've been in the hearing all morning," Rose pointed out, as if he needed reminding. "Detective Brosh has been calling your office for the last hour or so. Apparently it's urgent or something."

"Couldn't he call Captain Armstrong or Chief Hawkeye?" Mustang asked when he reached his car and tossed his briefcase inside.

"He said he tried, but they're both out in the field and didn't answer their phones. Anyway, he says that he's at East PD and something came up, or so Edward Elric says."

"Thanks, Rose, I'll be at the office in five." He hung up before Rose could and began to drive off towards his office. One day into the investigation of Van Hohenheim's death and Ed was already finding wrinkles. He really should have expected it, given what he'd found yesterday. That must have been why Armstrong was unable to be contacted, since he was probably too busy looking into Jonathan Drake Sr. at his place of work.

"I have Detective Brosh on Line Two, sir," Rose told him immediately after he entered his office. He thanked her and closed his doors, grabbing his phone the second he was seated in his chair.

"Detective, I hear you've been calling me for the last hour," Mustang said, partly in amusement, though his face had not betrayed that in the slightest.

"Damn right, we've been calling for the last hour!" yelled Ed's voice. Roy had to hold the phone slightly away from his ear at the volume the younger man was using.

"Sorry, sir…I didn't want to bother you, but Edward was very insistent about this," Brosh chimed in apologetically.

"It's fine. Fullmetal, you mind telling me the reason I have to hear your annoying voice for the third day in a row." He knew he was antagonizing the blond, but it wasn't like Ed wouldn't do it right back to him.

"Remember how I told you to look into Jonathan Drake Sr.?" Ed asked. Roy rolled his eyes. Of course he remembered; it was just yesterday. "He's not gonna be a problem anymore, since he's dead."

"Dead? Since when?" Roy asked in concern. People of interest didn't usually turn up dead unless there was something quite a bit bigger going on. That was the largest point of concern to the commissioner.

"Uh…since last night," Brosh informed him before Ed could comment rudely. "He was found in a phone booth on First and Elton, shot three times in the chest."

Roy had to stop himself from dropping the phone. Even with that measure of self-control, the device still nearly slipped from his fingers. He felt his breath shorten a little and his heart had started beating a few paces faster. Those words were like an unfortunate trigger, causing sweat to break out across his forehead and hands. For a brief moment, Roy swallowed and closed his eyes, but it hardly did any good. The image still surfaced unpleasantly in his eyes. He didn't know what Jonathan Drake Sr. looked like in that phone booth, but he certainly remembered the way Maes Hughes looked, slumped against the phone booth with blood trailing out of the three shots in his chest. How ironic that Elicia had lost both her father and now her father-in-law in the same place and in the same way.

"You still there, Commissioner Charcoal?"

"Was there…was there anything else notable about the body?" Roy asked, opening his eyes and dragging himself out of that blasted waking nightmare.

"There was," Brosh said. "He had a slip of paper in his pocket and the payphone was off the line, indicating he was calling someone. That's what the detectives investigating it think."

"Anything written on the paper?" After all, a piece of paper in and of itself was unremarkable.

"Just two words: 'Philosopher's Stone'."

"Which means absolutely nothing to me or Brosh or anyone…not that we've called Jon since he's still on that honeymoon with Elicia," Ed told him. The words meant nothing to Mustang as well, just a bunch of gibberish. Well, unless you counted the fabled stone that turned death into life and metal into gold, but that was just fantasy with no bearing on reality.

"All right, you're still following the Van Hohenheim case, right, Brosh?"

"Yeah, just got some of the forensics results back. Ed and I were planning to go over it, but this happened first."

"Understandable. Anyway, I want you to focus on that case. I'll have someone else focus on the Drake case."

"Understood, sir." Roy was grateful he didn't have to hear more of Ed's scathing comments before Brosh deftly hung up the phone. Roy sighed, unable to stop himself. This day just kept going from bad to worse. Mustang had to pull it together if he wanted to salvage anything good from this day. Emitting another sigh, Roy pressed the intercom button on his phone to call to Rose.

"Rose, could you call Detectives Havoc and Breda in here?" He got a very brief confirmation before he heard the sound of her chair scraping from outside his door. Once he heard she was gone, he slumped into his chair and put his hand to his chin in thought. Van Hohenheim, dead. Jonathan Drake Sr., dead. More than that, each of them had been murdered, and both in seemingly very personal ways. Perhaps, Mustang just felt that way because of his personal connection to the first and the uncanny similarities of the second. It almost felt like an attack on him, but more than that, it hindered his investigations, particularly into the vigilante.

"What's up, chief? You wanted to see us?" Havoc asked when he opened the door. Mustang sat up straight once he saw the two detectives entering.

"I need you two to go to East City," Mustang informed them. "I've been informed that a rather distressing murder has happened there…of Jonathan Drake Sr."

"Weren't we looking-"

"Yes, and that's why I need to send the both of you to take lead and investigate this case." Breda shifted in his own seat and looked his superior straight in the eyes with a steely gaze.

"No offense, sir, but isn't this kind of horning in one of the things we've tried to avoid over the years. I doubt the East City PD will be very happy to have some Central City cops come in and take over their case. We start doing that, and we'll be walking a tightrope."

"I know that," Mustang countered fluidly, "and I'm not trying to build up any ill will here. What I am trying to do is send my best men to solve a rather disturbing case. From what Brosh told me, I don't like it. The timing of it, the staging of it…"

"Staging?" Havoc blurted out.

"You'll see when you get there," Mustang waved off. "Point is, something about this case is off and I want people I trust investigating it." Havoc looked at Breda for a brief moment and then shrugged.

"That's good enough for me."

"Yeah. We'll let you know when we find something, keep you apprised." Roy grunted his thanks and watched as the two men left the room together. Roy's fingers interlocked as the door slammed shut and he looked at the wood paneling. Was it Lyra's words about cleaning up his house that was inspiring him to distrust the majority of his officers? Or was it something more nefarious that he couldn't put his finger on? Too many questions were swirling around Mustang's brain, not the least of which was "what did 'Philosopher's Stone' mean?" It was possible that the phrase had to do with the intelligence community that Drake Sr. and his son were a part of, but he wouldn't get any confirmation out of Lyra. It was likely the reason he'd been murdered, though.

He was twiddling his thumbs now, thinking of a way to get the answers to his questions. It took seconds for him to realize there was only one person he could trust to find the information both quickly and without anyone else ever knowing he was looking, even if it meant accessing secure intelligence files. Roy stood and walked around his desk to exit his office. Rose looked up at him as he did so. "Do you know if Detective Feury is back in?"

"I'm not sure," she answered, preparing to stand and find out the information herself. He just waved her back down, essentially telling her that he'd figure it out himself. He then left the office, weaving through the various officers and detectives to where he knew Feury would be if he were back. Sure enough, the bespectacled man was back in, tapping away at his computer. The only strange thing was that his boisterous companion was nowhere in sight.

"Feury, I'm glad you're here. Where's Armstrong?" Mustang asked as he approached the desk.

"We got a small lead on the Red Water angle before we reached Drake Sr.'s office, but Chief Hawkeye took over with him. Guess she wanted to confirm the lead before informing you." Mustang nodded, realizing that was just like Hawkeye.

"Anyway, I've got some work for you, just…keep it in the family, all right." Feury swiveled in his chair to look at his boss in anticipation. It showed just how often Mustang asked for stuff like this, which was almost never. That was how Feury would know the request to be serious. "There's a murder case and tucked in the victim's pocket were the words 'Philosopher's Stone'."

"Like the mythical stone that turns metal to gold?" Feury asked in bewilderment. All it did was confirm that the detective had no better knowledge than he did.

"Something like that, but I want to know how it applies to the real world. You're the best man I can think of for the job."

"Thanks for the flattery, sir, but be honest: you think it may have something to do with the STONE Bill and the intelligence agencies, don't you?" Feury asked bluntly, pushing his glasses upward.

"If that's where your line of thought leads you then so be it. Let me know what you find," Mustang told him, tapping the bespectacled man's desk to make his point. Feury nodded and the commissioner departed for his office once again. Armstrong and Hawkeye hadn't come back by the time he reached his office, though it wasn't like he fully expected them to. Rose was gone from the office, too, either running an errand or taking a lunch break. His gut said lunch break thanks to his own stomach rumbling. That rumbling intensified when he saw the stack of papers from this morning that he'd yet to have a chance to go through, and he decided to order in.

He was about halfway through his pulled pork sandwich when Rose had made her way back to the office, but he ignored his secretary. She was usually fine if left to her own devices. It was around four in the afternoon that Mustang finally put a cork in all the paper he'd been deluged with, finally giving him a moment to relax. Of course, once he had that moment he had no manner of relaxing thoughts. Neither Havoc nor Breda had called, but that was to be expected at the very least. Feury hadn't called him out, either, but that didn't worry the commissioner. What was starting to worry him was that neither Hawkeye nor Armstrong had come back yet, which was highly unusual. Hawkeye almost always visited him to inform him of things. When Rose informed him she was leaving for the day, he thanked her and decided to take a nap; Hawkeye would be able to find him here if she checked. It wasn't like there was a point to heading home anyway, given that he spent most nights in the office.

Roy was jolted awake almost two hours later by his desk phone ringing rather shrilly. He groaned with a slight sense of annoyance and snapped his chair into a more upright position so that his hand could reach the phone. "Commissioner Must-"

"Let's skip the introductions, sir," came Hawkeye's cool voice over the phone. Not surprisingly, it woke him up. "You were sleeping, weren't you?"

"What is this? An alarm clock?" he shot back irritably. Hawkeye didn't appear to find it amusing in the slightest.

"More like an alarm, sir." If Mustang hadn't been awake before, then he most certainly was now.

"What happened _now_? I thought you and Armstrong were following a lead."

"We were. It dead-ended." Her clipped tone suggested something far more malevolent was at play than a simple false lead. His eyes narrowed, despite no one being there to see them. He had the very distinct feeling that he'd have to be ready to grab his coat at a moment's notice. "Then I got a call from Rebecca."

"What did she have to say?" Mustang's sense of foreboding was increasing with every passing moment in this conversation. Bringing Rebecca's name up was just telling him something bad had happened, and it likely had to do with the press. After all, over the years, Rebecca had made the move from being an Internal Affairs agent to, essentially, becoming the press liaison for the department. Most official statements passed through her, and she had a few informants of her own on the outside that would usually leak something from the press that the police didn't know about. Her wealth of connections and her (supposedly) charming and bubbly personality made her a good fit and garnered a lot of information for the department.

"Apparently, every major news network and newspaper company received an e-mail this afternoon from a Truth at the Ancient Underground website, a site for the disillusioned and potentially psychotic," Hawkeye quipped dryly. Mustang was standing as he put her on to speaker. He was already grabbing his coat and his gun from his desk drawer. "Anyway, the e-mail told the press that he was going to have a riot tonight and that they should all come and check it out. He gave no other details."

"So, now Truth is sending invitations out to the press," Mustang commented angrily. Well, it was more of a growl as he snapped his gun to his waist. "He didn't say where by any chance, did he?"

"No, he didn't, but it's not like Rebecca's stupid." Roy wanted to argue that point considering they were talking about the same woman that had married and divorced Jean Havoc, but for the purposes of moving forward, he said nothing. "She knew Truth was involved, so after her contact at The Amestrian Times told her all this, she went scouring the website until she found a relatively innocuous video of the Central Penitentiary being filmed. All of it, including the inside."

"You're saying that Truth is planning some sort of prison break? On his own?"

"At the very least he's planning to start some sort of riot," Hawkeye answered, uncertainty ladened in her own voice.

"Other than potentially tracking down Truth, what exactly does this have to do with us? Can't the warden handle a riot inside the facility?"

"Those were my thoughts, too, but it's always best to check things out with the warden himself. I would have agreed with you one hundred percent until recently. It seems Truth sent out another little invitation and the media outlets are all lining up outside of the prison as if it's a giant giveaway. I don't know what Truth's aim is in all this, but the prison guards are having a hard enough time holding them back. Truth really whipped them into a frenzy and it seems that they believe it's their God-given right to get the scoop on this. Captain Armstrong's working on getting an assault team together should the worst happen, but without clear justification…"

"Forget justification. Put a tactical team together now. This thing with Truth ends tonight. I'm on my way." He hung up the phone abruptly, before Hawkeye could get another word in edgewise. Mustang whipped his jacket around him and stormed from his office in an unflappable wave. The department wasn't buzzing with nearly as many officers as it had been previously, but those who were there all greeted him until they saw the undaunted, steely look on his face. Even he wouldn't have wanted to greet himself, with his mind so focused on the best chance they had of catching Truth.

He was taunting them, that much was completely sure. Truth must have felt like he'd acquired some sort of immunity thanks to the media praising him so profusely. It was only natural that by this point he'd want to taunt them; possibly prove the claim once and for all that the police couldn't catch him. Mustang was determined to prove him and everyone else wrong. Truth was going to show he was nothing more than human tonight.

When Roy was approaching the prison, he could see the bright lights of all the news vans that were illuminating the chain-link fence. Also illuminated was the mass of reporters all trying to get in for a single glimpse of either Truth or this supposed riot. It was almost funny, because from where he was, it almost looked like the reporters _were_ the riot. If they were, Mustang considered it a good thing that he pulled into the side lot that would lead him right to warden's office, where Hawkeye was waiting. He had no desire to speak to any reporters before or after whatever was about to go down.

"What's our current status?" Mustang asked as soon as he was inside the warden's office.

"Tactical team is en route," Hawkeye informed him. The warden, an older, balding man wearing a crisp suit, struggled behind the female chief. "Armstrong is surveilling the security footage. The guards are trying to account for every entrance, but it's difficult with that swarm of reporters out there."

"Commissioner Mustang," the warden finally piped up and Mustang focused on him, "I've been informed of the situation, but do you really think this vigilante would try something as stupid as starting a riot inside a prison?"

"Honestly, I'd be pretty skeptical, too, if Truth didn't have this uncanny knack for doing the impossible," Mustang told him. "He was able to whip the media into a frenzy."

"Yes…but…sending in a tactical team amongst those prisoners just to catch one man…"

"Warden, the tactical team is absolutely a last measure resort, okay?" he assured the man, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The warden nodded and seemed to relax a little. "Now, I know how familiar you are with your own prison, so I will leave most official judgments to you. Has there been anything odd going on today or within the last few days?"

"Mostly normal," the warden explained. As he did so, he picked up a clipboard from his desk that seemed to hold a report. "Regular flow of visitors, no glitches in the security system. The only unexpected thing was that a fight broke out in the prison yard earlier this morning. We had someone sent to solitary for starting the fight, though he claims it was the guy that was sent to the infirmary that did it. Like I said, unexpected but not completely out of the ordinary. We have fights being started once a week."

"Are there any entrances or exits that Truth could use to move freely in and out of the facility?" Hawkeye questioned. The warden sighed, as though he were tired of what he thought of as useless questions. Roy was getting tired of his attitude and held his hand out in a request to see the report himself. After another sigh, the warden complied and handed the clipboard over.

"Look, Chief Hawkeye, there are only four entrances and thus exits into this prison: the visitors', the guards', the infirmary for immediate treatments and the warehouse. The only one still open at this time of day is the guards' entrance and there's no way they're getting through there." Mustang cast his gaze upward at the conversing pair for a brief moment before beginning to flick through the report.

"How are the doors secured?"

"Electronic code known only to myself and the staff," the warden announced rather proudly. Hawkeye tapped her chin thoughtfully and the commissioner could tell what she was thinking of. "That's not the only defense. If you try to bypass the code with some sort of decoder, a secondary electrical lock kicks in and seals the door tight."

Mustang subconsciously started nodding his head, actually impressed by the rather elaborate setup. The warden and Hawkeye continued their discussion, but Roy ignored them in order to peruse the documents in front of him. It was mostly banal details that the commissioner couldn't care to trouble himself with. Lists of visitors, guards on duty, a summary of the figh…Mustang stopped, seeing the name on the sheet of paper. He flipped back hurriedly to the list of visitors and confirmed what he was starting to fear. On that list of prisoners visited was the name Selim Bradley, and he had been visited by a man named Timothy Ruth. Normally, that sort of name wouldn't mean squat, but when he had signed his name, it was as "T. Ruth", a rather obvious pseudonym for Truth.

Furthermore, the report stated that the fight started when Selim Bradley began choking in the yard. Supposedly some other prisoners began to make an example of him in the yard, which led to the fight. The prisoner in solitary, though, claimed that while Selim _had_ begun choking, he had also thrown the first punch. That was an action that just screamed distraction.

"Who's keeping a guard on the infirmary ward this time of night?"

"I'm not sure," the warden said with a jolt. He obviously hadn't expected the commissioner to speak up. "Let me radio the office. Jenkins, who's on duty in the infirmary?"

"You've found something, haven't you?" Riza asked, her face stoically impassive.

"I have Officer Blakely on duty." Roy flipped back through the packet.

"Blakely was the one who broke up the fight this morning…" Mustang mused, his finger hurriedly tapping the clipboard. "Warden, if we could see your current security footage of the infirmary ward."

"Sure." Mustang followed after the now fast moving warden, clutching the clipboard to his side. Selim Bradley and an Officer Blakely that was in both locations as him…it screamed suspicious. More than suspicious, considering that Officer Blakely wasn't supposed to work today, but since he had called in sick yesterday, he was to make up for it today. Leastways, that was what the report said. Hawkeye continued to watch him curiously but didn't open her mouth once before they reached the major security room. Armstrong snapped to attention once the commissioner entered the room. Mustang's eyes were more focused on the security screens. It seemed that the tactical team had arrived and was being let in through the guards' entrance. Once he'd seen that, Roy moved his eyes over to the camera showing the infirmary.

"The place has been quiet as a mouse," said the guard in front of the cameras. "The prisoner's asleep and Blakely's been standing guard like a statue." Roy didn't comment, but continued to watch the screen. He certainly was like a statue, the way he wasn't moving, yet was nonchalantly leaning against the wall.

"How tall was Officer Blakely?" he asked suddenly. The officer shrugged, but the warden complied in bringing up his personnel file.

"Six-four," he answered quickly. Hawkeye stepped forward and squinted at the screen.

"Then why does he look so much shorter from here and isn't moving at all?" she questioned. It was the warden's turn to lean forward. Mustang could practically see his eyes widening.

"Oh, shit…He's breaking someone out through the infirmary!" the warden yelled.

"Commissioner, the tactical team is ready and on standby," Armstrong informed them. "Shall I send the team over to the infirmary?"

"No," Mustang ordered, his brain firing rapidly to figure out just what was going on. "If he was breaking Selim out through the infirmary, we'd have known it by now. Besides, isn't it strange that we don't have a full shot of our prisoner's body, and that Officer 'Blakely' isn't moving?"

"It's Selim, isn't it?" Hawkeye recognized. "He's about the right height and build. At least, he was before going to prison."

"Truth broke in hours ago, posing as Officer Blakely just to kill Selim Bradley," Mustang declared to the room. "He's upping his game, showing that he can administer justice even to those in prison. He visited Selim this morning before Blakely's guard duty started and must have slipped him something to short the electrical circuit on your doors. That's what Selim was choking on, and he started that fight to get himself into the infirmary right now."

"Then why the hell are you saying we shouldn't send your tactical team to the infirmary?" the warden screeched.

"Because Truth isn't finished yet," Hawkeye said. "He hasn't triggered the electrical shutdown of your outer doors yet, which means he has something else to do in this prison. He's probably going to escape through the warehouse exit, considering that it seems to be the least guarded due to all the reporters outside."

"Then we'll smoke him out!" Armstrong proclaimed loudly. "We'll send the tactical team in through the prison to force him to back out-"

"And we'll be waiting for him outside. Great idea, Armstrong!" Mustang said. Armstrong took that as confirmation that his plan was a go, and he immediately began radioing in for the team to move. The warden was in a panic, so the commissioner paid him no mind and led his two subordinates out of the room and down the halls to get outside. Armstrong informed him that the team had successfully entered and were combing the halls, while he had diverted a couple men to the exterior of the warehouse entrance, which was exactly where they were arriving. Mustang ordered them to hang back a bit and keep the lights off. Then they waited, listening to the sounds coming from the prison.

"I really hope we're right about this," Mustang breathed. Those words worked like magic as he saw the lights around the exterior of the prison suddenly shut off. He held a hand out, telling them to wait silently and they soon after heard the sound of the door opening. In the darkness, the figure emerging looked like no more than a shadow, albeit a shadow that was a lot shorter than six-foot-four and was tossing away what looked like a pair of platform shoes. That was confirmation enough, and Roy snapped his fingers.

The lights from the tactical team's assault rifles suddenly flared on and Mustang, himself, held his gun to bear on the figure attempting to escape. The second the lights flared on and the rifles were cocked, the figure stopped like he literally was a deer in headlights. It took him a couple seconds to recover. "Whoa, guys, I'm one of you. I'm a prison guard."

"Really? Since when did you get so short, Officer Blakely? Or do you prefer Truth?" Mustang asked, continuing to aim his gun at the man he believed to be the vigilante. Said man seemed to debate his options for a moment before he smiled, though it appeared as more of a smirk. His hand moved upward and removed the cap and wig from his head.

"What gave me away, commissioner?" he asked, folding his hands behind his head. Hawkeye cautiously moved forward, making sure not to be caught unawares as she grabbed his arms and yanked them forcibly downward to cuff his hands.

"You threw your platform shoes away," he answered, striding up to the now incapacitated man. Bathed in the light of the assault rifles, Mustang finally got a good look at the quarry he'd been chasing for months. Without the wig, he looked to be quite young, with pasty skin that was practically sheet-white and long black hair that was now falling down to shoulder length. Most disturbing, though, was his smirk that looked like Ed's and the purple eyes, almost like a cat's. For a moment, he felt like he was looking at the devil himself. "Get him back to the station and into interrogation."

Hawkeye nodded and began dragging him off to the car she'd arrived in. It didn't need to be said that she shouldn't inform the press. Roy breathed a little; something good had finally come of this day. Truth was caught, and all they needed from him now were answers. That would be an enormous boon for the department. Out of the corner of his eye, Mustang watched Armstrong send the men of the tactical team away before he approached the beefy man himself.

"Armstrong, I want you to check on the real Officer Blakely," he asked of him. "We need to know if Truth killed him or not. Call me once you have confirmation. After that, look into every prisoner here. I don't want to miss anything."

"Understood, sir." Mustang nodded, patting the man's bicep and he proceeded to his car. Once he was inside, he took a deep breath to steady himself. After he had sufficiently calmed himself, he began the drive back to the station. Unsurprisingly, the station was all in a tizzy, extremely excited over the capture of Truth. No matter how late at night it was by this point, all lethargy was chased away by this event. It never ceased to amaze Roy how much a high profile arrest could enliven things. A number of officers congratulated him, and Mustang simply replied that it was a team effort as he made his way to the interrogation room. Before he got there, Armstrong called and confirmed that Officer Blakely was, indeed, dead. It was just one more nail in Truth's coffin.

"He won't talk," Hawkeye informed him when he met her outside the interrogation room. "Not that I'm surprised. After we cuffed him to the chair, he's just sat there humming. I'm sure you'd like a crack at him."

"With pleasure." Hawkeye chuckled out and stepped aside. He proceeded inside, not needing a folder or any other information. Roy was sure that Hawkeye would take care of all of that when they were done. As soon as the door opened, Truth stopped humming and looked up. The smirk was gone, but his eyes still glistened mischievously. "I understand you don't want to talk. That's fine, since I can fill in most of your story without your testimony. Really, I'm just wondering one thing. What exactly was your endgame? You created a whole elaborate plan and I'm curious as to why. Why did you think your plan at the prison would actually work?"

Truth looked up, his long black hair briefly shadowing his eyes. "Because you're wrong. I don't have a plan."

"Don't bullshit me," Roy insisted. "I know a plan when I see one and that was one hell of an elaborate plan."

"No, I'm serious. _I_ don't have a plan." He took a brief moment to lick his lips. "This is _his_ plan."

"His? Who is 'he'?" Mustang asked, confusion setting in. It seemed like a last desperate gamble for some escape to freedom, yet his words rang with complete sincerity.

"I'm just following instructions. I'm not going to talk until you're both in the room," Truth said confidently.

"Both of us? Who else would you need to speak with? A lawyer?" Something about the way Truth looked up at him with such a wide smile unnerved him and he could already feel his heart dropping.

"Don't be silly. I don't need a lawyer. And besides, there's only one other person I could be talking about." Truth sat up as best as he could with his wide grin. "I'll tell you everything when both you and Edward Elric are in the same room. Those were my orders."

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 **Author's Note: I look at Roy as a character who hates politics, but is likewise a brilliant politician. I hope you can all agree with that assessment. So…this chapter was a big one plot wise, and next chapter is just as big. In fact, chapters 5 and 6 may as well have been one chapter, split for length. You'll see why in four weeks' time. For that matter, can you guess what my favorite line of this chapter was? I've been building towards it for so long…Well, again, I'll see you all in a month. Until then, please Review and Dare to Be Silly.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Like I said last chapter, this is like a continuation, and is one of the most important chapters. So, happy belated birthday to myself, I present you with this mega, ultra, super important chapter. Please enjoy Chapter 6!**

* * *

Chapter 6

"Why Edward?" Hawkeye repeated for what must have been the hundredth time that night. It was like the question had become a never-ending mantra for the chief. Not that she was receiving any answers in turn. Truth had clammed up after his demand that Mustang and Ed be present in the same room with him. Ever since then, Hawkeye had unceasingly tried to figure out why the bastard wanted it that way. Mustang had a few ideas and none of them were particularly pleasant; they all stemmed from a desire to hurt Ed to some connection to him or maybe it was the fact that they technically used to be partners. No matter which way one sliced it, Truth's demand was a rather unsettling one.

It was also the only bridge they had to getting some answers. So, Roy made the call and it went about as well as one would expect when speaking with Edward Elric.

"Do you even know how busy I am thanks to _your_ cases piling up on _me_?" he had snapped to the commissioner.

"Don't get over-excited, Fullmetal. I'd rather we went our separate ways, myself, but right now it's the only way. Get it?" After a few more hostile words, Ed finally obliged and said he'd be there by early morning, once he finished up at the station and at work. That left Roy hours to figure out just what Truth's game was. Hawkeye was evidently trying to figure out much the same thing, to no avail, and it was starting to get on his nerves.

"I would love to know why, but until the brat gets here, I don't think we'll know anything," Mustang commented dryly. Hawkeye frowned, her lips becoming a thin line at his statement. He knew his little quip was probably taking it a little too far, but he needed quiet to think. She finally seemed to recognize this, for she nodded and retreated into her own office. Mustang rubbed his eyes and nearly collapsed against the walls. It was always one thing after another with Truth.

An idea came to the commissioner and he pushed himself up. His feet carried him into the interrogation viewing room. No one was manning the consoles or camera at the time, but Truth was still inside the room, chained quite nicely to the table. Roy took the moment to observe him. He appeared quite bored, his feet tapping and a vaguely recognizable tune being whistled. All it told Mustang was that the man was actually a tease, something that was greatly disturbing. Someone had planned all these attacks and murders out. Someone had planned for Truth to be here at this time. The worst part was that Truth's general nonchalance only told Mustang that the only way he was going to get answers would be to play along…for now, anyway.

The commissioner's mind hearkened back to Lyra's words about cleaning up his house. Was there someone in the department leaking info to Truth? Or was the warning hinting at something more vile or sinister? For all Roy knew, it may have just been bluster, but the words weighed on him. More disturbing than Lyra's words were Truth's. This was _his_ plan? But the ultimate question was, who was _he_? Who would have a bone to pick with the police department to the point that they would endanger citizens' lives just the get one up on them and prove a point? Or maybe it was personal. By the way that Truth had called out himself and Ed, dismissing the notion of all this being personal would be an extremely foolish thing.

Truth had stopped tapping his feet and whistling. Now he was staring at the partition between himself and Roy, like he knew (or at least assumed) he was being watched. It was a disconcerting thought that lasted until there was a knock on the door. The commissioner turned his head away in time to see Feury pushing open the door and silently enter.

"Is this a bad time, sir?" he asked quietly. Mustang just waved him further in the room in a hushed response.

"Have you found anything on what I asked you to?"

"That's the thing, sir. I haven't." Mustang looked at him skeptically; Feury always found _something_. "I know, you'd think that something in the modern day and age referencing a Philosopher's Stone would be easy, but I was scrabbling for even meager information."

"Did you…" Mustang looked around the room to make sure that all recording devices were off. "Did you hack into the Intelligence Agency's system?"

"Yes…and no." Feury didn't wait for the inevitable question on Mustang's lips. "Anytime we need information we probably shouldn't have, I'm usually able to get it through their system. I was able to get in no problem, but when I started digging deeper, it was like they set up an evolving firewall. I'm not sure if it's related to this Philosopher's Stone or whatnot, but obviously something's going on that they need the extra protection."

"Damn…well, thanks anyway…" Feury remained in the room and it was after just a little too much time had passed that he realized he had wanted to say something.

"I may not have been able to find anything pertaining to the present, but I think the concept of the Philosopher's Stone may be important," he said with conviction. Mustang fully turned towards him, his curiosity piqued at what he was to say. "In ancient times, the Philosopher's Stone was the very pinnacle of alchemy: turning metal into gold, death into life, lies into truth. Ultimately, it was about taking multiple parts and making them into a whole. Changing history is what it sounded like to me."

"That is rather interesting…" the older man mused. Feury hesitated in giving a nod before beginning to back out of the door. He seemed to run right into Hawkeye, but Roy only faintly registered her appearance. Instead, his eyes were trained right back on Truth. Everything had to be connected, or else coincidence was playing a very sick joke. Jonathan Drake Sr. had been clasping the words "Philosopher's Stone", which sounded all too similar to the STONE Bill and its subsequent STONE Project. That, in and of itself, was linked to the Intelligence Agency, who was beefing up their security. And turning lies into truth…well, he had the man sitting right in front of him. All that had to be done was figuring out what, or who, connected them all.

"Sir, Havoc is on the line in my office," Hawkeye said loudly. "Something about the Drake case, I believe."

"All right, I'll take it," the commissioner told her. He spared a final glance at Truth, before following Hawkeye to her office. Through the windows, Roy could see the sun rising, painting the station in a brilliant hue of red and gold. He was a little surprised that they had managed to stay up all night, and that managed to distort Roy's perception; the sunrise was starting to look like blood. He really needed a coffee after speaking to Havoc. "What do you guys have for me?"

"ME finished examining the body and Darius just gave me the final forensics report," Havoc said. There seemed to be the sound of paper being flicked through. "ME estimated that Drake was killed Sunday night, shot three times with a .45."

"Just like…" Hawkeye didn't finish her statement. Not that she needed to.

"Yeah…Breda and I thought the same. It's a little disturbing." Mustang placed his hands on the desk in the room and leaned over it.

"Is there anything else?" he asked coldly. The memory was harsh enough, but none of this was new information.

"Yes…Drake was making a phone call from the payphone."

"Big surprise, there," Mustang responded mockingly. Havoc scoffed loudly on the other end.

"It is, actually. You know most people use cell phones these days. Who wastes time with a _payphone_? Do you even see any in Central City anymore?" Havoc seemed ready to ramble on, something that Mustang was not awake enough for.

"Get to the point, Havoc!" In the corner of his eye, he saw Hawkeye fold her arms.

"Darius and his team were able to get some prints. Judging from the numbers, he wasn't able to complete the call. We have a theory on who he was calling from that torn piece of paper in his hand." A few silent clicks could be heard in Mustang's brain while he waited for the blond on the other end to elaborate. "We think he was trying to call you, boss."

"Me?" Mustang asked, his fingers now tapping rapidly. "Find out why."

"We're on it, boss! Oh, and the pipsqueak is on his way right now. It's thanks to him that we have as much as we have," Havoc informed him. "Also, Brosh is looking into Hohenheim's contacts, but it looks like he's on some sort of path."

"As soon as you find out anything else, let me know. And, Havoc, make sure you find out how Drake is connected to this whole Truth business." Havoc sent one last affirmative before he ended the call. Mustang stood back and looked to Hawkeye, who was certainly deep in thought. "What do you think?"

"I think it's disturbing…and frankly, a little sick," she told him. "The similarities, and then Havoc and Breda's theory. It's starting to feel more and more like a personal attack against you."

"It could be coincidence." Hawkeye's eyes flashed dangerously at him. "Right. No such thing as coincidences. Either way, without more information, what can we do?"

"You're right, sir, and I'm sure Havoc and Breda will pull their weight. I'm most worried about Brosh's investigation."

"Meh, he'll be fine. Besides, if Ed is as helpful as everyone's making him out to be, then the case will be solved in no time." Roy smiled cheekily at her, causing her to unfold her arms and purse her lips in his direction.

"You realize this isn't a joking matter, sir. Edward is as much a part of this as you or I, but he's a civilian now. We can't treat him the same as we used to." Mustang finally frowned back. He knew all that, but it didn't mean he wasn't willing to make use of the other man's genius tendencies. Deciding that he didn't want to be lectured anymore, Roy turned and left the office.

The station was becoming busier as more and more officers came on shift. It was still relatively quiet to how it would be later in the day, but having been here over the graveyard shift brought a sharp contrast between the two times. Roy decided that he desperately needed that coffee. He turned and went straight for the coffee machine. Mumbles and gossip whirled around the squad room. The commissioner caught snippets of it, most of it pertaining to Truth and the rumor that he'd been caught. Obviously, it hadn't reached full rumor mill status yet because more than a few officers looked unsure about the validity of the claim. Roy shook his head to shake off his fatigue as he poured his coffee.

He'd barely taken a sip when he saw Ed walk through the front doors, his red jacket whipping backward. The blond looked as exhausted as he felt. Knowing he wouldn't get much of a chance, Mustang downed the hot coffee, feeling it uncomfortably burn the back of his throat. Ed was almost upon him and whispers cascaded around the station, innumerable eyes locked on to the former legendary forensics specialist.

"Do you mind telling me why you insisted on having me drive out here? I haven't been home in over twenty-four hours and you're making me your errand boy," Ed snapped. He was scowling and Roy was easily matching that scowl.

"Don't test me, pipsqueak. The caffeine hasn't worked through my system enough to deal with you and your childishness." Ed had finished approaching and the two men stood eye to eye. The whispers increased, wondering what was about to go down between the two men. After a minute of heavy anticipation, Ed stepped back.

"What am I here for, Mustang?" he asked with a resigned sigh.

Mustang jerked his head toward the interrogation room. "Come with me."

He knew that Ed would probably want to argue with him, but he truly had no time to deal with that. Mustang turned his body and began leading the blond through the station, towards the interrogation room, hoping that Ed would follow so that he could explain things along the way. Whispers continued to follow him as he felt Ed keeping close behind him. More people could see the short-tempered father now, so it was no surprise, and Roy finally managed to catch some of the words being said.

"Is that really him? The legendary Fullmetal?"

"I've never seen him before. Rumor had it that he once found a single human hair amongst a pile of dog hairs that led to the killer." Roy unconsciously snorted. Those rumors grew more outlandish every year.

"Nah, man, I've heard he took down a whole gang by himself."

"That guy? But he's so-" Roy stopped and turned around, amused, as he watched Ed start to steam.

"If you say 'tiny' or any other synonym, I'll punch you so far into the ground that I'll be a giant to you!"

The whispers turned to mutterings for a minute before ceasing altogether. Roy shook his head and Ed finally resumed their journey to the interrogation room. The commissioner shouldn't have been too surprised. It was no secret that Ed and he had been a practically legendary team back in the day. Most of the rookie officers had only heard stories that came from rumors that were likely trickled down through Havoc and Armstrong's big mouths. The pair began to descend the steps.

"We caught the vigilante," he finally answered Ed.

"I'm surprised. He didn't seem like an easy guy to catch."

Roy ignored the thinly-veiled insult and continued on with what he was saying. "The problem is, he refuses to tell us anything and none of us can get a good read on him. He's as enigmatic as his name."

"What? You want _me_ to take a crack at him?" Ed asked loudly and with a tone that suggested he was joking. "Newsflash, Mustang, I'm not a cop. In fact, I've never been a cop, so-"

Mustang cut the younger man off by whirling around and facing him the second they reached the doors to the interrogation room. Ed was clearly surprised, because he stopped talking and took a step back. A short distance away, Mustang could see Hawkeye descending the same steps they had just come down. Noting that, he turned his full attention back to Ed. "Listen, Fullmetal, I have no idea what Truth's game is, but he's a crafty bastard. You should know before we head in there that he refused to speak with us until both you and I were in the same room with him."

"Me? What the hell would Truth want with me?" Ed snapped.

"I have no idea, but I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming you know nothing about the guy."

"Only what the papers tell me…which isn't much." Hawkeye was finally upon them and Ed turned his head toward her with a light smile. "Hey, Chief Hawkeye."

"Edward. How are you holding up?" she asked quietly. True to form, Ed showed no emotion and shrugged.

"I'm okay…or at least I was until this asshole brought me here."

"Not in the mood for your scathing commentary, Fullmetal," Roy snarled, folding his arms to enhance his demeanor. Ed looked torn between the urge to hit him or just laugh at him.

"All right, fine. I'll do this for you, but you're gonna owe me, Mustang."

"Sometimes, I feel like I've never stopped owing you," the commissioner lamented. He turned back toward the door and placed a hand on its handle.

"Damn straight, and one of these days, I'm going to collect."

"Now isn't the time to be acting like children, boys," Hawkeye admonished them. While she did so, she squeezed between them on her way to the other door in the vicinity. "I'll be in the other room, watching the interrogation."

Roy gave a quick nod and finally turned the handle. The door swung open with a slight squeak, alerting Truth to their entering the room. When Mustang stepped in, he saw Truth leaning as far back as he could, his eyes transfixed on the entryway. Mustang suppressed a shudder at how unnerving those piercing purple eyes were. Ed followed behind him, but Mustang kept his eye on Truth, hoping to get a glimpse of his reaction. Behind him, Ed closed the door and stepped around to stand at Roy's side. Keeping his gaze on the pale man, Mustang watched as an eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch and his eyes widened just slightly more than that. Even from this distance, the commissioner felt he could see Truth's pupils contract, like he was a bull seeing red (which was rather ironic to Roy, since Ed seemed to always wear red). Most telling was the smirk that dropped from his face for just a brief moment, replaced with a frown before it was back up and running again. Mustang breathed deeply.

"Looks like we're all here," he said. To Roy's ears, it sounded like Truth was mocking them. "It's nice to meet you, Ed. I _can_ call you Ed, right? I would shake your hand, but I do have these pesky handcuffs on."

"Feeling's not mutual. I'm not a fan of being acquainted with murderous nut jobs," Ed said brazenly. Truth stopped his lazy reclining, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"I'm not," he said coldly. The smirk didn't leave his face, either, making his statement all the more chilling. "I don't go around killing people for kicks."

"You said it was all part of someone's plan. Ed's here now, so start talking, Truth," Roy commanded, hoping to take control of the conversation. Truth looked over at Mustang for a fleeting second, but his eyes were almost immediately back on Ed.

"Wrath," he said calmly. Neither Mustang nor Ed understood the statement or how to respond to it. "My name is Wrath…well, codename, but I prefer it to any other name I had. Truth is just a moniker for the public to see. I mean, who doesn't love truth and justice, right?"

"Pretty disturbing names to choose for yourself," Ed said. "And we have two names in this society."

"Fullmetal, stop antagonizing the suspect," Roy rattled off, but his eyes remained on Truth's…or Wrath's, he supposed he should call him. Ed was looking at him, he knew, probably thinking the same disturbing thoughts as he was. Said apprehension was highlighted by Wrath's now gleaming smile, revealing wolf-like canines that served to highlight how dangerous he was.

"Do you think so? I'd say my names are pretty badass and appropriate," Wrath practically cackled out.

"Personally, I couldn't give two shits about your name choice or fashion sense or whatever else you think about when you wake up in the morning. I want to know where you got your information to interfere with my department's cases," Mustang snapped viciously.

"I'm not at liberty to say. That's something he'll have to tell you," Wrath said in contemplation.

"He? You keep mentioning this 'he' but you won't say who it is."

"No point to. He wants to meet you. I think he's already scheduled it for today, in fact." Roy felt his lower lip twitch in a mixture of aggravation and annoyance. Before he could make a move to intimidate Wrath, Ed beat him by slamming his hands on the table, his automail hand making the sound rather impressive.

"I'm not part of the department anymore, but I seriously hate it when assholes like you want to jerk me around. Stop playing around and tell us why you're doing all of this crap!" Wrath slowly shifted in his chair. Mustang made note of the smirk dropping off Wrath's face, replaced with some strange form of rage.

"Shut up, pipsqueak," he snapped angrily. "Someone as pampered as you has no right to talk."

"Want to say that again, short stuff? I've got no problem kicking your ass." Roy's brow furrowed. Had Wrath slipped up in what he was saying to Ed, or was it all part of a ruse still? The angry waves radiating from the vigilante seemed genuine, but he couldn't figure out why Wrath would have such an issue with Ed when the two had never even met before. If they had met, it would make a lot more sense.

"Like you could," Wrath scoffed, his original demeanor returning.

"What's your problem with me, asshole? I've never done anything to you." Wrath continued to smile toothily and Mustang figured that it was time to intervene in the conversation.

"Wrath, answer my earlier question," he said, his fingers tapping thoughtfully on the table. "What purpose did all of your actions serve? Why kill the bank robbers? The prison break? They're all unconnected and the only point I can see is ruining the department's reputation along with the lives of countless other officers."

"Hmm…" Wrath hummed out. He was looking down at his lap now, evidently lost in concentration or trying to decide on a response. "You ask a lot of questions, commissioner. I'm afraid I can't answer that one either. It would ruin the game we're playing."

"Game?" Mustang's eyes flicked over to Ed, who had likewise looked over at him.

"I thought Sloth had told you," Wrath pouted, his face coming across as just a little childish. Mustang's breathing hitched for just a fraction of a second. Wrath…Sloth…the similar names were becoming far too familiar for coincidence. Ed must have thought so, because his body had tensed, preparing for a fight. "Yes, a game. A fun one, I hope. You're familiar with games aren't you, commissioner?"

"Familiar? Yes. Fond of? I'd rather shower with a bear," Mustang quipped sarcastically.

"That's too bad. Father said you'd be dying to participate once you found out the stakes," Wrath said with just a hint of dejection. Mustang couldn't figure this guy out. He kept such a cool and aloof exterior, but sometimes it was like he'd slip up or start acting like a child who didn't get what he wanted from mommy. More important was the name he mentioned: Father. "That's right, I haven't told you the stakes yet."

"You're a sociopath," Ed laughed out.

"No, I'm not. I'm just doing my job: exposing the truth and delivering wrathful judgment on those who deserve it," Wrath said gleefully. It all sounded rather corny to the commissioner's ears, but he resisted the want to scoff at the clearly delusional man. "If anything, I'd say you all are the sociopaths. You walk around all in charge with a friendly face that promises peace and security to everyone. I want to know, was that the kind of face you wore when you shot President Dante in the head?"

Not a single muscle moved on Roy's face or body; his expression remained impassive. Ed was pretty much the same, though that may have been more from shock. Inside, Roy's heart was beating faster and he recognized the numbness spreading to his limbs. Wrath's proclamation couldn't have been some random, lucky guess. He _knew_ the truth, even though not a shred of evidence was left behind on that day. The commissioner sucked in a very quick breath and decided to respond before Wrath could contemplate that his reaction proved it.

"What kind of question is that?" he asked, slightly harsher than he'd meant to. "Why would I possibly kill a former president? Besides, I caught the guy who did it, myself: Frank Archer."

"If you say so," Wrath responded. "Now, I'm not supposed to tell you the rules of the game, but I am supposed to inform you of the stakes. Father said it was meant as incentive for you to meet with him."

"I'd love to meet him, if he's responsible for all the crap you've been putting us through." Wrath kept on smiling, the grin now becoming eerily unsettling.

"Have you spoken with your family today, Ed?"

Ed moved faster than even Roy could look at him. The shock from the previous question had worn off and now the rage was setting in from the current question. He lunged across the table towards Wrath and almost succeeded in grabbing his throat before Mustang grabbed his automail arm and yanked him back. "Don't you dare threaten my family!"

"I'm not threatening them. That ship's already sailed." Ed's eyes widened, the light in the room really making his golden eyes shimmer. He tried to go after Wrath again, but this time Roy managed to toss him away from the vigilante, who was grinning widely.

"Fullmetal, stop it!" Mustang warned tersely. "Don't react to his taunts. Call your family. See if they're okay."

"Right…" Ed swallowed thickly, heaving in breaths. "You're right…" He moved over to a corner of the room and took out his phone. Judging from the number of buttons pressed, Ed must've had his home on speed dial. Mustang turned to glare venomously at Wrath.

"If anything happens to that family…" he growled. Wrath gave no response other than his unchanging grin. Over in the corner, Ed was already dialing another, longer number. Roy's heartbeat was increasing with every single second.

"What did you say? !" Ed yelled so loudly that it echoed across the entire room. "Their grandmother picked them up? ! What are you, an idiot? ! Both of their grandmothers are dead!" Now, Roy's fists were clenching and he felt his stomach dropping out. He furiously rounded on Wrath and grabbed him by his shirt. Wrath didn't move very far thanks to being handcuffed.

"Where. The fuck. Are they?" Mustang said in a menacingly low voice. Wrath hardly looked frightened.

"In the things you took from me, I have a phone. On it is a single number that will send out to a one time use burner phone. Ed can speak to his family from there. That's proof of life."

"You bastard!" Ed roared. Mustang stepped back in time for Ed to land a right hook against the guy's jaw. Wrath looked unfazed while Ed continued to look enraged. He was about to land another punch when the door banged open and Hawkeye came in with the phone, the number already dialing. Ed worked hard to restrain himself before snatching the phone and putting it on speaker.

"Ed, please tell me that's you." The voice was unmistakably Winry's vice. Ed's body continued to tense up, though his shoulders relaxed. "Ed?"

"I'm here, Winry. Where are you? Where are the kids?" Ed asked, a tremor working its way into his voice.

"We're all here, dad," called what sounded like Eddie Elric. "Lucas is scared and fell asleep a while ago."

"Do you know where you are?" Mustang asked without thinking.

"Commissioner Mustang, is that you?" Winry asked in relief. "We don't know where we are or what time it is. All I remember is that I was working on some woman's car and when I rolled back out, she got me with chloroform. I don't even remember what she looked like."

"Same here," Eddie said. "Liz and I were called to the front office, something about our grandmother. I knew something was up, but…"

"But he failed epically," Lizzie finished for him. "Don't worry about us, dad. Just find whoever did this and kick their asses." Ed's hand was almost crushing the phone now, mostly because it was his automail one.

"Ed…" Winry said softly. "We love you, and we know you'll find us. Just move forward, one step at a time." That was it for Ed and he ended the call by crushing the phone into a mangled mess with a single grip. He was heaving his breaths now and his eyes glinted with a never before seen ferocity.

"Don't worry, Ed. They'll be okay…as long as you play the game. Deviate from that and I can't guarantee their safety," Wrath said. It was so matter-of-fact and void of emotion that Mustang didn't blame Ed for wanting to throttle him.

"You fucking-"

"What are the terms of the game?" Mustang asked, completely against his better judgment. He didn't want to play along, but at the moment it was their only move.

"Outside, there should be a car waiting for you. You'll be blindfolded and led inside to be transported to an undisclosed location where you'll meet with Father who'll outline the terms of the game. Edward will remain here with me. Father just wants to meet _you_ , Commissioner Mustang." Wrath made that the final thing he was saying as he sat back and mimed zipping his mouth shut as best as he could.

"Bad idea, sir," Hawkeye voiced, and not too quietly either.

"Obviously, but what other choice do I have?" Mustang responded. "If this Father is going to such great lengths to meet with me, I doubt he'll kill me, but he may kill the Elric family if I don't comply. Just keep an eye on Wrath. And keep an eye on Ed, too. I don't want him killing Wrath before I get a chance to…get more information."

Hawkeye smiled a rather knowing smile. "Be careful, sir."

Mustang afforded a lonely nod to the both of them and he left the interrogation room. The department was in the full swing of the morning shift, with officers treating it as any other day. Roy attempted to do the same, offering greetings and smiles until he reached the front door. Just as Wrath said, a black car was waiting out front with tinted windows. Standing outside it was a man in a crisp black suit that was bald and wearing sunglasses despite the clouds moving in. He approached Mustang and handed him the piece of cloth that was evidently to be used as the blindfold. Roy was surprised the man let him tie it himself before ushering him into the back seat of the car and taking off soon after.

Unable to see, Roy leaned back in the seat, though his body didn't relax whatsoever. He could feel every bump in the road and his body jerked with every turn. It wasn't a long drive, even if Mustang had the distinct impression they were going in circles in order to throw off the path they were taking. Not that it would matter in the end, since he was to be meeting this "Father" anyway. After twenty minutes of almost pointless driving, the car pulled to a stop and Roy felt the door next to him open. A strong hand gripped his upper arm and forcibly yanked him out. As soon as Mustang felt himself gain his balance, he was prodded in the back and forced to move forward. The sound of doors opening echoed across what Roy assumed was a massive lawn and he continued to be steered through three pairs of doors until he bumped into a chair. His caretaker roughly shoved him around the obstruction and into it before taking his leave.

"You can take that off now," called a deep voice in the room. Roy frowned as he reached upward to take it off. He knew that voice, almost unmistakably, and practically dreaded seeing its owner with his eyes. Knowing he had little choice, though, Roy finished the action of taking his blindfold off and adjusted to the light in the room. "Welcome to my home, commissioner."

"Ather…" Mustang breathed. He still hadn't caught a glimpse of the man, trying instead to get his bearings in the lavishly decorated office space of his estate. Still, he knew the voice without the face. "Or should I call you Father? That's cute."

"A simple moniker I adopted for myself," Ather said. Roy's eyes finally finished adjusting and he saw the senator sitting calmly on the other side of the desk, a chess board between them. "Do you play chess, commissioner? Let's have a match while we talk. I'll play white."

Without waiting for consent, Ather moved his first pawn forward. Mustang watched the game board along with the expression on Ather's face. He looked collected and confident, and why wouldn't he? In this circumstance, he was the one in control, and there was nothing Mustang could do to dispute it. Knowing that, he moved his hand over to make his first move. "Frederick Ather. F. Ather…Father…I can see you're as imaginative as your acolyte, Truth…or is it Wrath?"

"Wrath's a good accomplice, if a little impulsive and childish. Still, he performed quite well in managing to get you here on schedule," Ather responded. He leaned over and made his next move. Roy's frown disappeared and he wiped his face of expression while making his own next move. "I would assume you know why you're here?"

"So you can kill me?" Roy joked, though there was no humor in his voice. Ather, or Father, he supposed, seemed quite surprised that he'd say so.

"Not at all. If you see an ant on the ground, do you go out of your way to kill it? Of course not. And besides, the commissioner being killed in my own home would be very suspicious. I don't want there to be any allegations against me, not with elections upcoming." Roy blinked, continuing to survey Father as he hovered over the chess board. "I really love chess. It's one of the few things my mother taught me before she was taken from this world."

"Let me guess," Mustang breathed out tiredly, "your mother was murdered and you blame the police department for it. So, you try to ruin our reputation for it."

"No," Father replied simply. He quickly made his next move right after. "The simple fact is that you killed my mother sixteen years ago. Don't try to deny it. That would just insult both of our intelligences."

"Dante was your mother, then," Roy scoffed out. He probably should have shown shock and surprise at what was potentially meant to be a lethal revelation. However, Roy wasn't thrown off in the slightest. Dante had had her share of secrets, and an illegitimate child was hardly an earth-shattering one. In fact, it made more recent events make all kinds of sense. The only question was how Father (because his name was most certainly _not_ Frederick Ather) had found out he'd been the one to kill Dante. He also knew that was a piece of information Father would never offer. "You realize your mother was a psychotic bitch who was willing to kill thousands of her own citizens to get reelected."

"I know what my mother was, but the fact is, she was still my mother," Father snapped testily. "She may have had to hide the fact that I existed, but she still visited me, taught me things. If anything, she gave me the tools for becoming the politician I am today. Better than my father, who had an entirely different family while I suffered in a foster home."

"It never occurred to you that Hohenheim didn't actually _know_ about you?" Father's quirked eyebrow was the confirmation Roy expected. Mustang made his next move and then leaned back in his chair. "But I'd suppose he does now since you had him killed."

"Did I?" Father asked, but the smirk on his face was more telling than anything. It looked more like a leering grin. "Somehow, I don't think you have any proof connecting me."

"Just like your mother." Mustang's gaze narrowed on the man, and Father sharply returned it. "So…this is revenge then, is it? I thought you didn't bother stepping on the ants in your way."

"I don't. But I've always been one of those children that picked the legs off an insect and tortured them before killing them. That's exactly what will happen to you." Roy remained silent as Father stood and looked out his office window. "You see, you think you're invincible. That you can't lose. But I'm going to prove to the whole world that not only can you lose…you already have."

"Is that so?" Mustang growled. He was getting tired of this man and his damn posturing. "You realize I'm not just going to sit back and let you win this little game you're trying to play."

"I planned on it," Father responded, turning back to Mustang with all pretenses of emotion gone from his face. "We both know you'd never baldly accuse me outright, not without proof. You have to play the game, and you have to make the choice: save the Elric family, or save the job you've worked so hard for."

"Then I'll take a third option," the commissioner told him defiantly. Father just leaned over his desk.

"We'll see about that." Father's hand hovered over the chessboard and made a move. "Check. The next move's yours, Commissioner Mustang. We're done here."

Mustang stood as the doors to the office opened wide and the same man that had escorted him came into the room. A million thoughts were whirling around the commissioner's head, but he knew he'd sort them out before he got back to the precinct. Amidst all those conflicting thoughts, however, was a single promise. "If the Elric family is hurt in any way, then the law be damned. I will burn you alive and enjoy every second of it."

Father looked up from the papers he had already started working on with no emotion. "That's not up to me."

Roy was ushered from the room and the doors slammed shut.

* * *

 _Click_ …Ed's eyes flitted downward to his watch, his automail hand clenching in agony over how slow time was moving. _Clack_ …The sound echoing around the interrogation room drew the blond's attention and he looked to Wrath, who seemed at complete peace, despite being chained up. Ed wanted to punch the guy in his face more times than he could count before delivering the coup de grace by kicking him in the balls with his leg…his metal one.

"Can I have some chips? I'm hungry," Wrath asked innocently. He even wore a rather disarming smile. The officer that Chief Hawkeye had posted at the door didn't respond. Ed didn't care about him; he continued to observe Wrath. He had noticed it earlier, but Wrath hardly acted like a complete psycho vigilante. At times, he acted almost childish, like right now.

"Why us?" Ed asked, drawing the vigilante's attention onto him. "Why my family?"  
"Does it matter?" Wrath asked, all semblance of childishness gone.

"It does to me. I've done nothing to you, and even if I did, my family shouldn't be involved."

"Oh, shut up, Ed!" Wrath snapped. He leaned forward in the chair and actually managed to get his face right up against Ed's. "This is about both our families. It always was from the very beginning. You take mine, I take yours."

"You're twisted," Ed seethed. The man was starting to babble utter nonsense. Wrath grinned.

"You know what's really twisted? These handcuffs."

Everything happened too quickly for Ed to react. One second, Wrath was leaning forward, then he suddenly head-butted Ed. The blond fell backwards and off his chair, his head spinning, but he was still able to see exactly what was going on. Wrath was no longer chained to the chair. From where he was, it looked like he had dislocated his thumbs and was popping them back in. The officer in the room was reaching for his gun, but Wrath lobbed the chair at him, slamming him into the door. Then he closed the distance and grabbed the officer from behind and, with some effort, snapped his neck before taking his gun.

Ed scrambled to get up, but the chair got in his way and Wrath reached him before he could get up. For a brief moment, Ed actually feared that Wrath would do the same to him as he'd done to the officer, before the rage started setting in. He swung his fist blindly but missed and Wrath pinned the arm down with his foot. He leaned over it and forcibly yanked the arm from the port. Ed screamed at the nerves disconnecting and was hauled to his feet by Wrath, who caught him in a choke hold and held the gun to his head.

"Move!" he barked. Considering his other arm was on the floor, Ed had no choice but to obey, allowing Wrath to lead him out of the interrogation room. No one was in the hall immediately outside, but as Wrath started bringing him up the stairs, Ed could see the armed officers standing at the ready.

"Go ahead, guys," Wrath announced to the station at large. "Make your moves. Take your shots. Watch him die."

"Let him go, Wrath," Hawkeye announced from her position by her office. Feury was alongside her. Ed was starting to lose consciousness, Wrath's chokehold depriving him of oxygen. He did know that they were slowly moving forward, but none of the officers were taking shots out of fear for hitting him or their fellow officers. Even Hawkeye wasn't taking a shot despite her famed accuracy. That was where Wrath stopped, turning to Hawkeye, judging from the pressure on the back of Ed's neck.

"Send the commissioner my regards."

Then he let go of Ed, shoving him into Hawkeye's and Feury's arms. Ed coughed at the oxygen flooding back into his body, but he had the presence of mind to turn and see Wrath raise the gun up and shoot at the light overhead. The area became a maze of shadows and Ed saw the fleeting one that was Wrath. Despite his arm being gone, Ed regained his balance and chased after him while the officers remained confused. Hawkeye and Feury were hot on his heels until the trio pursued Wrath to the outside.

Only, he wasn't there.

Wrath had vanished just as quickly as he'd been caught.

* * *

 **Author's Note: So, how was that? I told you it would be big! Our villain this time is Father himself. I've known Father, his plan, his relations, everything since near the end of TO CATCH A KILLER. Yes, all the way back then. It's hard to do his character in an AU setting so I borrowed some elements from the 2003 anime's Envy to make him this way. On the other end, Wrath is also from that 2003 version, as is Sloth, the woman from a couple chapters ago. Things are heating up now and I hope you're enjoying the story. If you are, please do Review and Dare to Be Silly.**


	7. Chapter 7

**This chapter is a tricky one, simply thanks to the number of characters in it. Either way, I hope it will prove very enjoyable for you. Time to read chapter 7!**

* * *

Chapter 7

The Central City police station was in an uproar. A vigilante…no, a killer had just escaped from them right under their noses. Even Hawkeye, who usually had a demeanor so stoic she could be mistaken for a rock, looked frustrated. So was Feury, since he couldn't seem to stop running his hands through his hair and cleaning his glasses. All of it was a blemish on their record, and the officers were scurrying around as if in fear of what Mustang would do when he found out upon his return.

Ed wasn't feeling any of that. As he sat in Chief Hawkeye's office and watched the police flit to and fro in front of the office windows, Ed could distinctly say he was not fearful…at least not for himself. Pick out any other one of the myriad of emotions that existed out there and Ed could definitely say he was feeling it. His pride was bruised from being taken out by Wrath; his anger was peaked towards whoever the hell was behind this; his frustration was boiling as he sat there, unable to do anything but wait. But he did feel _some_ fear…fear that Lizzie and Lucas were scared out of their minds at what might happen. Eddie and Winry were strong, so he knew they'd hold together, but he didn't even want to think about the possibility of never seeing them again.

As his cup of coffee was placed on his lips, another unsettling thought came to sit in his stomach. Ed whipped out of his chair and lunged across Hawkeye's desk for the phone, dialing the number with as much speed as his reattached automail hand would let him. It began ringing and Ed felt his chest clenching, desperately hoping for what may have been the impossible. The second ring echoed out shrilly and Ed's hand gripped the phone tighter, hope dwindling away by the second. Then, the third ring began and was cut off before it finished.

"Hello?" Ed's sigh came as a veritable mountain of relief.

"Al, I'm glad to hear you're all right!" he quickly said to his brother.

"Um…okay…" Al said, a small sniffle tacked on the end. To Ed's ears, it appeared that his brother had been crying, which wasn't a surprise, given what had happened. Ed would cry, too, if he felt it did him any good. "Where are you brother? I tried visiting the house, but no one was there."

"Yeah…" Ed breathed out, those roiling feelings of uncertainty roaring back in his chest. "No…no one's going to be home."

"Brother, is everything okay?" Al asked, that usual brotherly concern in his question. For a brief moment, Ed thought about pretending that everything was just fine, but he knew it would bite him in the ass to pretend it was.

"No, it's not," he answered. "Al, do you think you could come to Central? Or is work too busy?"

"Central? Ed, what's going on?" Al inquired, the sniffles vanishing from his voice. He was all business, now, and Ed appreciated him for that. "I mean, I can definitely come over there. Mugear closed our division down for the week: first the Tringham's dad died and then our father did. He said we're so ahead of the curve that taking a week off wouldn't hurt. But tell me what's going on."

"Winry and the kids are in trouble," Ed answered solemnly. He didn't want Al to interrupt, so he forged on with his explanation. "You know that vigilante? Turns out he and whatever other sickos he's working with kidnapped them. I don't know why, but-"

A loud clamor was heard from outside the office, causing Ed to turn his head. Mustang was clearly back, judging from the clip at which Hawkeye was moving. On the other end of the phone, Ed could hear movement. "I'll be there as soon as I can, brother."

"Al," Ed said with sudden insistence. Judging from the sounds, his brother had stopped. "When are Mei and the kids supposed to be back in the country?"

"Um…they were going to get tickets for tomorrow's flight when I told them dad had died," Al explained. Ed nodded, even if his brother couldn't see him. That made this easier.

"Cancel those flight plans," he ordered. "Until this thing is over, let's keep your family out of harm's way. Ling may be a shifty-eyed bastard, but I trust him to keep them safe."

"All right. After I take care of it, I'll be on my way to Central."

"Sounds great. I gotta go," Ed said. He quickly tossed the phone down to hang it up and dashed from the room to where Mustang, Hawkeye and Feury were conversing. Most of the officers were just milling around by now, giving the commissioner a clear view of Ed approaching. He waved him over before turning to his own office. The blond had caught up by the time they were walking into the office.

"Rose, you can take the rest of the day off. Go pack for your vacation," the dark-haired man told his assistant before pushing open the double doors to his office. The three tagalongs followed him inside before he shut the door. No one was saying a word until Mustang sat on his chair. Even then, he only spoke one word: "Ather."

"The politician?" Ed asked, confused as to why he'd be mentioning the guy. Hawkeye and Feury looked a little more unsettled by this statement. "What's he got to do with this?"

"Where do I start?" Mustang seethed, leaning forward to rest his head on his palm. "For months he's been a thorn in the department's side, taking our funds away. Well, as it turns out, he had a vendetta to settle with us. Apparently, he adopts the moniker of 'Father' just to achieve this. Ironic, since he must have had his killed."

"So, Wrath is in the employ of Ather…I mean, Father?" Feury asked. Roy nodded, like that was all that needed to be said. Ed was more hung up on his last statement: he had killed his own father. Somewhere in the recesses of his memory, Ed vaguely recalled what the man looked like, though mostly just the light beard he had on his face. Hawkeye shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"He knows, doesn't he?" The question was asked in a harsh whisper, and Ed knew what they were talking about; it was the only topic between them that _needed_ to be whispered. "About what happened sixteen years ago?"

"Dante was his mother, apparently." Everything clicked in Ed's head and the snarl that appeared on his face must have been quite fantastic to garner such attention from the other occupants in the room.

"So, the bearded bastard is my half-brother, then," Ed spat. He'd always known ("always" being a relative term) about his father's sexual relationship with Dante, but evidently he was unaware of _this_ relationship. "Dante…she's like the gift that keeps on giving."

"Well, I have no intention of letting Father have his way," Roy declared vehemently. "Father wants to pick a fight with the department, and I'll give him one. No one messes with my family and gets away with it."

"You realize he has the upper hand right now, don't you?" Ed said, trying once more to control the seething rage inside of him. "How do you plan to get ahead?"

"By playing with his rules," Mustang answered, his old, confident smirk finding its way to his face. "Tell me, Fullmetal, do you still keep in contact with Greed?"

"Occasionally…but I can't see how that would…" Ed let his sentence taper off into nothing. He kept his eyes on the smug commissioner, rapidly analyzing the thought patterns the older man must have been having. When he finally understood, he snorted in amusement. "You want to see if Greed knows of any major dealings in the criminal underworld."

"Father is obviously well-versed in it to hire scum like Wrath, or someone to kill your father. I have no doubt that a senator taking these actions, even if anonymous, would send a wave through the underworld. Even if not, Greed keeps his ear to the ground enough that he may have heard something else…at least, last I checked he did." Mustang finished his statement with an insistent glare to Ed. The blond's eyes narrowed suspiciously; this was a very dangerous move for the commissioner of the police to play. It was likely they'd already have their asses on the fire after losing Wrath, but associating with a known gang leader would just make the situation worse. It was obvious that Ed would have to keep this low-key.

"Well then, excuse me while I make a phone call," Ed told them. He shoved his chair back and began to leave the office, hoping to find a secluded spot in the station, which was difficult in the bustling hallways. This was further hampered by the hulking form of Armstrong striding through. To Ed's surprise, the large man ignored him on his way to the commissioner's office. Ed brushed it off and finally found a mid-sized custodian's closet. Other than the reeking smell of bleach radiating from the room, it was perfect and Ed sat on an upturned bucket before making the call.

"Edward, this is an unexpected surprise. A pleasant one, of course," came the silky smooth voice of Greed over the phone. Ed almost cringed, half wanting to hang up the phone. This was _not_ a conversation he wanted to have. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"Thought we'd catch up and shoot the breeze," Ed said, trying to bite back on the sarcasm leaking out of his voice. Greed laughed on the other end.

"Let's not lie to each other, Edward," Greed said with an undeniable simper. "You're calling on behalf of our mutual acquaintance, the commissioner."

"How'd you guess?" he responded irritably. Ed was still grateful that all pretenses had been dropped.

"Rumors. The criminal underworld is quite abuzz with all sorts of interesting rumors lately."

"Do tell; I'm interested to know what's going on in the underworld." Greed laughed again, making Ed frown. Of course, dealing with Greed was never easy, which meant learning even the tiniest scrap of a rumor from him was like drawing blood from a stone.

"That costs money," Greed told him. Ed was about to sigh in frustration. "Normally, at least, but I'll waive the fee this time, because it's you, Edward."

"That's generous," Ed drawled in mock sarcasm. Greed laughed yet again.

"You know I wouldn't lie to you. It's not my thing," Greed finished with a chuckle. Ed was starting to wonder if he really was laughing, or if it was forced. "Truth be told, I've had my fair share of problems."

"Okay…how does that…?"

"Guns, Edward, guns…well, more than that, actually," Greed told him, a note of distaste in his voice. "Normally, things are quiet as a mouse…and then, all of a sudden, I see an uptick in weapons trades along the northern border."

"With Drachma?" Ed was tapping his chin, finding the news distasteful, himself.

"Yeah. I know it's none of my subordinates, either. Ever since tensions with Drachma have increased, I put a gag on those shipments," Greed told him. "I may be a criminal, but I'm not a traitor. So, I sent Dorochet to investigate whatever was going on and he saw tons of shipments just ready to move, and some guys talking about brokering a deal with one of Drachma's generals."

"Drachma's arming itself?" Ed asked. He was hardly surprised; relations between Amestris and Drachma had never been good, so it just seemed like the pot was bubbling over now. "This isn't helping me, Greed."

"This next part will: they said their guy in charge of brokering the deal would be arriving soon. I'm sure the name Pride sounds familiar to you." Ed almost dropped his phone, but caught it. A pair of footsteps stopped outside the closet for a moment, and Ed waited until they moved on. "Not that it's the same kid, but-"

"Someone's rebuilding Homunculus Corp?" Ed asked, effectively cutting his informant off. "Greed, have you heard tell of a Wrath, or any recent kidnappings?"

"Definitely couldn't tell you about any kidnappings, but Wrath…familiar and eerily disturbing. I can look into it and get back to you when I'm not cleaning up this crapstorm."

"All right," Ed breathed. Greed didn't wait for any more pleasantries to end the call. Ed shoved his phone back into his pocket and opened the door warily to poke his head out. Checking to see if the coast was clear, Ed started out and walked confidently back towards the commissioner's office. He was surprised to find it even busier than when he'd left it. Feury, Armstrong, and Hawkeye were hovered over a laptop. Mustang looked up when Ed entered the room.

"What did Greed say? Anything worth using?" Ed gave a very quick glance at what Feury was doing on his computer before shrugging his shoulders.

"He gave me information, but I can't tell if it's useful or not. What exactly are you guys up to?" Ed asked. Armstrong cleared his throat rather loudly and Ed braced himself for a bone-cracking hug that didn't come.

"The officer that Tru-Wrath, impersonated was found dead by hanging in his apartment. Staged suicide like your father, I suppose," Armstrong said with a hint of melancholy.

"It's starting to look like their preferred method," Feury commented while continuing his work. "Politicians…they're always so sneaky about everything…"

"None of that answers my question," Ed enunciated, continuing to look skeptically at the trio. Mustang sat up.

"I had Armstrong look into what happened at the prison," he answered, well, it was more like a growl. "Wrath was the pretty little distraction. Bait, as it were."

"After comparing prison reports, we found that there was, in fact, a prisoner missing," Armstrong said. From Ed's cursory glance, it seemed like the muscular detective really didn't want to admit what had happened.

"Solf J. Kimblee," Mustang finished for his subordinate.

"That nutjob's back on the streets? !" Ed said before he could collect his thoughts. "Oh yeah…they dropped the death penalty. So, why wasn't he in a more secure prison?"

"Because Kimblee is a good actor, always has been," Mustang told him. There was a light chuckle on his lips, but it was a rather humorless one. "If we hadn't been so preoccupied with Wrath and Father, Kimblee wouldn't have the lead he has. To answer your question, though: we're trying to find any linking of funds with Father or Kimblee that may connect or explain where he's going."

Ed scratched his head, mulling over the older man's words. For some odd reason, Greed's words came back to him. _Pride was coming to broker a deal with Drachma_. If that were true, and Wrath and the mysterious Sloth were working for Father, it stood to reason that so, too, did Pride. Of course, it also meant there were four more people working for Father, but Ed figured they should focus on the ones at hand. _Pride…_ Ed mused. Hawkeye had told him Selim Bradley was dead, so that meant a new Pride was in play…perhaps Wrath had made certain that a new Pride was in play. And a careful politician and strategist like Father would make certain nothing would blow back on him.

"Greed said a man named Pride was about to broker a weapons deal with a Drachman general," Ed told them all deliberately. "Trace the funds to Drachma and we may have confirmation."

"We'll start with the general," Feury said. Ed moved around, squeezing between Hawkeye and Armstrong (which was no small feat) in order to watch Feury go to work. It took a bit of time, but the blond chemist watched as Feury gained access to the full list of personnel in the Drachman Army. After a bit of searching, he found an itinerary that matched Ed's theory on a General Ivan (and some last name that Ed couldn't pronounce). It took even longer after that to find the bank records of said general.

"There," Hawkeye pointed out, noticing the odd pair of transactions in the last month. "There's a large deposit of cenz converted to Drachma currency that was withdrawn twice in the last month. The first date coincides with the bank robbery."

"Father wanted it to look like Drachma was funding the vigilante," Mustang commented. He actually sounded a little impressed, which sickened Ed, but was an otherwise objective opinion.

"Yeah…he also routed it through so many shell companies, it would take me weeks just to parse through all the data," Feury informed them. "Same thing with the path of the withdrawal. I could spend all day here and we'd still have no definitive proof that Ather is behind all this."

"We don't have weeks," Mustang concluded simply. Ed was grateful to hear the man say that; it meant that his family was at the forefront of the commissioner's mind. The dark-haired man leaned forward with his head on his fist before he chuckled softly under his breath. "He's just like his mother; a brilliant strategist."

"Mustang, this is hardly the time to pay that bastard any compliments," Ed said, his voice on the verge of yelling.

"I'm not…but if we assume he's anything but brilliant then we're on even more of a backfoot," Mustang said stoically. "Truth be told, he's already had the forethought of splitting our forces. If Hohenheim and Drake are connected, then Drake's death was done by him, causing me to send two of my best east. Now there's this Drachma business. I have no idea what he's really using Drachma for, but right now he's breaking us apart."

"It's still something, sir," Hawkeye reminded him quietly. "How do you propose we follow it?"  
Ed watched as Mustang's gaze sharpened on various objects in his office while he contemplated his best course of action. Eventually, he turned back to Ed with a smirk on his face. "Fullmetal, how well do you know Chief Olivier?"

"Well enough to keep my distance from her," Ed shot back instantly. Realizing who was standing next to him, he added as an afterthought, "No offense, Armstrong."

"None taken," Alex answered with unmitigated fear in his voice. Mustang appeared to consider this statement, but shrugged nonetheless.

"Works for me. You're heading north."

"Uh…no I'm not," Ed argued back. "For one thing, I don't have northern automail equipped, and for another, I'm getting my family back!"

"I'll make sure you do," Mustang countered, "but I'm planning on going after Wrath, and I can't have you or your hot temper fucking things up. If you want to work this case, you're heading north. You'll work with Olivier to find Kimblee. We find Kimblee, we get leverage on Father. We do that, we find your family."

"You…" Ed spluttered various incoherent sounds after that, but eventually decided on pointing a finger angrily at the man. "Fine, but you better make sure my family gets back safe. And I need my damn automail."

"Don't worry, Ed. I don't want to lose your family, either."

 _Yeah_ , Ed though bitterly, _because if you did, you'd lose your job_. He realized the dark line of thought that was taking him down, and he cleared it with a shake of his head just as an officer knocked on the door. Mustang looked up from the call he was making to East PD in order to call the officer in.

"Sorry, sir," the officer apologized meekly, "but there's an Alphonse Elric here to see you." Mustang's eyes slid over with an incredulous and accusing gaze to Ed, who shrugged with a little smirk. He may not have been able to be part of the search for Wrath, but involving his brother, who he trusted far more, was a stroke of brilliance. Mustang sighed.

"Yeah, bring him in," the commissioner replied. He followed that up with a conversation to an East PD officer to bring Ed's cold weather automail to Central. It was a discomforting thought, but it looked like Ed really was heading north. When Mustang finished his call, Ed noticed him sink into a haze of thought, as though he were contemplating something that perhaps he shouldn't. The door cracked open once again and Al stepped into the room, looking sheepish.

"Hey, Alphonse," Feury greeted. Al waved before shaking Hawkeye's hand. Ed had forgotten that his younger brother hadn't spoken to them all in years. "How've you been?"

"All right," Al answered. He turned to his brother with a questioning look on his face, though what the question was, Ed wasn't sure. "It's pretty snug in here. What's going on?"  
"We know who hired someone to kill dad," Ed stated. "He's the same guy who kidnapped Winry and the kids."

"You're not arresting him?" came the confused question.

"Not with so little evidence," Ed spat. "We can't even _prove_ that he was behind it. So, I'm heading north to track down one of his people. Hopefully it pays off, but I hardly know where to start."

"Brother," Al called sternly, making Ed turn his head, "what are you not telling me?" Ed sucked his lips in; how could he tell Al that the man setting out to ruin their lives was their half-brother? The whole notion was inconceivable. He was spared the agony by Mustang.

"Fullmetal, get ready to hate me," he said, picking the phone up.

"I already treat you with disdain, so it's hardly a leap," Ed said, passing the statement off. It didn't stop his stomach from clenching at the implication of what the man meant. "What are you up to?"

"We're up against a killer that managed to conceal himself from seasoned detectives for years. Kimblee is shrewd and a more than capable killer," Mustang explained. "So, if we want to track him down, we'll have to use someone that was trying to do so for years. Fight a criminal with a criminal…or a serial killer with a serial killer, as it were."

Ed stared at the commissioner, trying to figure out just what he was implying. By the time he understood, Mustang was dialing the number and listening to it ring. The color drained from Ed's face and he surged forward to slam his hands on the desk. "No! No way! I'm not working with _him_!"

"Sorry, Fullmet-yes, hi, this is Commissioner Mustang," Mustang said confidently over the phone. Ed started grinding his teeth, his breath practically seething as he glared daggers at the man. It sounded a lot like noise while Roy made small talk with whoever was on the other end. When they finally got down to business, Ed's presence of mind returned. "Is Prisoner 5791 eligible for a work furlough? Oh, in two weeks…Do you think you could move that up? We believe he has expert knowledge that could help us with a case. Excellent. I'll have two officers pick him up and bring him to East City." As he finished the phone call, Roy motioned for Hawkeye to make the call. The dignified chief left the room with a light bow.

"Brother, what exactly is going on here?" Al asked, He wasn't the only one with a look of confusion. Ed, on the other hand, was a writhing mass of anger. If he could, he would reach across the table and throttle the commissioner.

"You fucking asshole," Ed breathed, while Mustang stared up at him unflinchingly. "I'm not working with Scar."

"That's your choice, Ed," Mustang said. The expression on his face didn't change even once, indicating that his mind was more than made up. "I know your reasons for hating Scar, and I have just as many, but Scar chased after Kimblee for years. Even if he didn't know the man by face or name, no one else knows that psychopath's mind better than him."

"You really think I can work with him? He killed Winry's parents!"

"And he killed even more officers, but right now, I'm willing to make a deal with devil if it means stopping his boss," Mustang insisted. Ed's fists continued to clench. With every wave of rage that settled down inside, another rolled over and eclipsed it. Al put a hand on his brother's arm. It was such a light touch that Ed didn't notice it at first.

"Ed, I understand how you feel," he said quietly. "But right now, what's more important: your stubbornness or your family?" Al's words finally put everything into perspective for Ed and his body unfurled. He still wasn't happy about having to work with that murderer, but if it meant rescuing his family, he knew it was a step he'd have to take. Ed closed his eyes and took a deep breath that removed some of the tension from his body.

"All right," he answered the ever-stoic commissioner. "I'll work with him, but just until this case is over. Then he goes back to prison."

"I never intended otherwise," Mustang told him. Ed nodded with just a slight bit of relief. Then he left the room to wait for both his automail and the prisoner to arrive. Al followed after him in silence. Neither dared to speak, both too wound up to actually say anything. Rather, Ed watched all of the hustle and bustle of the police station go flying past him. At some point there was a news report about the escaped Wrath and Kimblee that raised the ire of just about every officer there. As evening came close to arrival, the officers from East PD arrived with his automail.

"Listen, Al," Ed began to explain as he reattached his automail, "Mustang and the others are going to try and find Wrath. I want you to help them."

"Don't worry, brother." Ed reached over and pulled his brother in for a hug, grateful to have him there. Just one family member was enough to push the despair away. Putting on his automail by himself sharply highlighted the fact that Winry was not just a phone call away. Normally, he knew he'd bitch and moan about her nagging him all the time, but for the first time in a long time, he was scared he'd never hear her voice again. Al was hugging him back now. "I will bring them back. Winry's my family, too."

"Thanks, little brother," Ed said gratefully and sincerely. He clenched his automail fist and remembered how Winry had made his leg for him when he went to work up at North PD a lifetime ago. The arm was simply made to complement the leg, but all of it was a testament to the caring and love that Winry had put into it. He was carrying her with him, and he would make damn sure that her work would help rescue her.

"Edward, it's time," Hawkeye suddenly called him. Ed clasped his brother's hand in farewell before departing to the front of the station. Hawkeye was at his side as they proceeded outside. Her lips were pursed, but Ed felt as though she was holding back on saying something. The two stopped at the top of the stone steps leading down and Ed saw the squad car resting at the bottom. Inside, he could see the vague outline of Scar in the backseat. "Be careful, and observant. You know the first rule of the north, right?"

"Survival of the fittest. You get careless, you get dead," Ed told her. "Don't worry. You don't need to babysit me like you do Commissioner Clueless." Hawkeye chuckled a little and extended her hand to him.

"We _will_ get your family back, Ed." Ed nodded emphatically, taking the time to shake her hand before slowly and deliberately descending the steps to the car. This was not going to be a pleasant trip. Thankfully, from the way the front passenger door opened, he wouldn't have to spend the trip sitting next to Scar. In fact, he felt it would be best to ignore the murderer until they reached the north; then he'd be Chief Olivier Armstrong's problem.

"It's good to see you again, Mr. Elric," greeted the bearded detective in the driver's seat. Ed scrutinized him as he closed the car door; the man looked faintly familiar, but Ed wasn't always the greatest with faces. "Mick. I once was assigned to watch over your family a long time ago."

"Oh…really? It must have been a _long_ time ago. How do you remember it?"

Mick tapped his head indicatively. "Need a good memory to be a good detective. That must be why Chief Hawkeye assigned Liam and I to be your escorts."

"Not to mention that we're familiar with the North area," called another voice from the backseat. Ed didn't turn around to see who was saying it; nor did he want to, considering that turning around meant catching a glimpse of Scar.

"That, too," Mick laughed out nervously. "Anyway, let's get going."

Ed could not agree any more with that statement. Mick put the car into drive and shot off to the north. No one said anything and there was nary a sound of movement from the backseat. All of it suited Ed just fine and allowed him to take a much needed nap. At least in the realm of sleep, he could forget about the predicament that was his reality. That was his original thought, but the nightmares were there, reminding him that nothing was okay. No one seemed to waken him, either, so the nightmares persisted.

"Mr. Elric," Mick called loudly while shaking him awake. Ed jolted and opened his eyes to the gray wintry wonderland stretching out in front of the dashboard. In his lap was a fur-trimmed jacket, and it was no surprise as to why. "We'll be at North PD in about thirty minutes."

"It's colder than I remember," Ed said irritably while he slipped the coat on. He rubbed his hands together, realizing that he must have been out for quite a time in order to be this close to the police station.

"You and me, both," Mick said, his teeth chattering as he did so. All it did was further enhance the frigid temperature of the area. Ed's scowl returned with a vengeance. He hadn't exactly liked the north back when he worked it nigh on two decades ago, and it seemed even more forbidding now. Soon, the semi-inviting lights of the police station at the foot of Mount Briggs came into view. It was snowing, like always, which made the station's parking lot look like a uniform blend of vanilla frosting with the way the snow was sitting on the cars. It was doubly so under the night sky. "All right. They should be waiting for us inside, and I'm ready for a hot pot of coffee."

"Hope you've got a hundred cenz," Ed murmured, kicking the door of the car open. It was even colder outside of the car and Ed pulled the jacket tighter around his body.

"Two hundred if you take inflation into account," Liam grunted. Ed turned back to reply to the detective when he saw Scar's familiar white hair beginning to emerge from the car. The blond refused to look anymore, instead kicking at the snow as he tromped over to the doors to the station.

Entering inside was sweet relief from the blizzard-like conditions outside and Ed shook all of the liberal amount of snow off his coat and hood just as Liam and Mick came inside themselves, bringing more snow with them. Both of them uttered the same sentiments that Ed was thinking while the hulking figure between them remained silent, only lightly brushing off the snow on his longcoat. Ed continued to ignore him, but it quickly became impossible when Mick left to go find someone in charge and Liam began to yawn. Scar appeared to think that this was the most appropriate time to speak.

"It's been a long time, Edward Elric," he said softly. Ed felt his body tense from his brain down to his toes, knowing that it was finally time to stop avoiding the inevitable. Accepting this, Ed turned around and was staring almost eye to eye with the man that had killed Winry's parents. He hardly looked any different than he had seventeen years ago, except for a few wrinkles by his eyes, longer hair and a very unattractive scruff on his face. However, the biggest difference wasn't in his physical appearance, but in a strange, newfound calmness in his eyes. The two may have only met twice, but Ed would never forget his eyes, and these weren't the same.

"Could be longer," Ed finally said. Scar instantly picked up on the mood that Ed was in and he lowered his eyes a fraction. "Personally, I don't think we need your help."

"I agree," he said, his voice raising in volume just a little.

"Why does it piss me off when you agree with me?" Ed snapped. He was throwing all the anger he had at the man, but Scar didn't flinch once. Nor did his expression, for that matter, which only served to enhance Ed's anger. "If you know that, why are you here?"

"Atonement," was the reply. This caused a vein in Ed's face to tick just a little. What was up with this guy and his one word answers? Not that Scar appeared to talk much before, but this was ridiculous. "I've been in prison for almost two decades. It's made me think about things: my purpose, my methods. I sacrificed a lot in order to kill the man responsible for my brother's death."

"Like your humanity?" Ed told him, his voice dripping with venom. "I don't forgive you, you know."

"I wouldn't ask you to," Scar immediately responded, surprising Ed. "What I've done to innocents is unforgivable, and I have much to answer for in my life. I hope to find my purpose in moving forward."

Ed scoffed loudly. He couldn't believe a single word this man said, but at the same time Scar's eyes didn't indicate that he was lying. He decided to test Scar's words. "How do I know you're not just trying to kill Kimblee?"

"I am going to kill Kimblee," Scar said, almost shocking Ed with his bluntness. "Not for vengeance, but for everything he is, everything I might have been if not for that day in East City. For that, Kimblee is a man who must die." The scowl continued to play on Ed's face, his lips twisting around in the void of having nothing to say. "I'm also doing it for your family."

"What do you know about my family?" Ed demanded, forgetting his inside voice for that moment.

"Just a little…you talked in your sleep." The scowl became an almost pouting frown as he stepped back from the man. "I owe you that much, and I owe your wife even more."

"Y-yeah, well, I don't want your help!" Ed insisted, just a little embarrassed at how courteous Scar was being. He was grateful for the distraction of a gray haired detective poking his head out from the bullpen.

"Is that you, Edward?" Ed smirked and waved his hand at the approaching man.

"Good to see you again, Officer Falman," the blond greeted. Vato Falman, or the walking computer, was someone who had changed very little in the near twenty years since he'd worked at North PD. Other than a little more gray and some tired lines by his eyes, he was the spitting image of himself when he was younger. Although, it was still fair to say that Ed only had more contact with Falman that the other officers at North PD by virtue of the man having once been a part of Mustang's team. They had certainly worked together more than once.

"Come on, you know I'm a detective!"

"You'll always be Officer Falman to me," Ed insisted with a smile. Falman gave a resigned sigh and reached over to shake Ed's hand. The ex-forensics specialist appreciated Falman's docile nature, which was a much better comfort than-

"Well, well, it's been a while, Fullmetal Runt." A shiver ran down Ed's spine at the cool, deep tones of the woman striding down the hallway. The worst part was that he knew it wasn't from the cold. He was _scared_. There had only ever been one person as frightening as his teacher, enough to get away with taking jabs at his height, and that person was Chief Olivier Mira Armstrong of the North PD. Age had treated her well, and she looked as graceful and commanding as she had when Ed first walked into the station up north, twenty years ago. Her long blonde hair was flowing freely, adding to her ever-imposing figure. "You remember Miles and Buccaneer?"

"Vividly," Ed muttered under his breath. She, thankfully, gave no reaction that she had heard. It wasn't hard to remember Miles _or_ Buccaneer. One was a stoic Ishvalan that never seemed to take his sunglasses off and the other had a Mohawk and had more in common with a bear than an actual bear did. "How are you, chief?"

"Cut the pleasantries. We have work to do," she commanded in a clipped tone. Ed would have said something, but Olivier had already stridden past him to scrutinize Scar. "I don't like having a serial killer in my precinct. What is that idiot Mustang thinking?"

"I'm sure he had his reasons, sir," Falman piped up, always seeming to stick up for Mustang when it counted. Olivier scoffed loudly enough that it echoed around the entire hallway.

"Very well," she said with her usual frown. "While you're here, Scar, you don't move so much as a muscle unless someone asks you to. You disobey, don't forget how many guns we have in the station. Miles will be guarding you."

"Uh, that's our task, sir," Mick tried to inform her. She shot a glare that shut him up faster than she could even throw it. Her commands given, she whipped back around and beckoned for the others to follow. Unlike when Ed had arrived at Central, no one seemed to really care about this large group parading through the station, despite how odd it looked. It wasn't lethargy, either; they just didn't care for gossip like other branches did. Eventually, Olivier stopped and sat at a desk that Ed presumed was Falman's from the exasperated sound he made.

"So, what are you doing here, Fullmetal?" she demanded once she seemed comfortable. Ed blinked, uncertain as to why she wanted to have such a sensitive discussion out here. While she waited for his answer, Olivier picked up a photo of Falman's family and looked it over appraisingly. When Ed hadn't answered, she turned back to him. "Speak already. I have nothing to hide from my men. They've already been relayed the basics as told to me by Chief Hawkeye."

"Then you know everything," Ed told her, not sure why she bothered asking the question in the first place. Olivier crossed her fingers in her lap and glared at Ed with all the ferocity of a bear hunting down a rabbit. The blond consultant swallowed and decided it was best to actually answer her question. "We're here to track down Kimblee, who escaped from prison a couple of nights ago. Mustang instated me as consultant to help with the investigation."

"And what makes you think he came north?"

"We…uh, we traced the money funding the breakout to a general in Drachma. Apparently, they're about to have some kind of weapons deal." Olivier continued to scrutinize his face. Ed was almost sweating, his coat becoming uncomfortable. It hadn't been a total lie, but it wasn't like it was the full truth, either. The northern chief sighed a moment later and ended her examination.

"Yes, that doesn't surprise me," she stated. "There've been rumors on the street lately that something was about to go down with Drachma. Nothing concrete until now. Tell me, Scar, you know Kimblee best. Where would he set up a meet?"

"I couldn't say," Scar told them. The answer didn't please Olivier. It didn't please Ed, either. "However, if I had to guess, Baschool would be the most logical place. It's large, with a lot of hidden places…too many to search unless you know how to look."

"This is just a guess, though?" Olivier interrupted, a frown evident. "Well, then I guess we're stuck."

"What do you mean, 'we're stuck'?" Ed asked incredulously. He knew better than to challenge the Ice Queen of the North PD, but Kimblee was the best link to his family and he wasn't going to let it slip through his fingers so easily. Olivier leveled another glare at Ed without even moving from the seat.

"I'm not wasting my men's time or resources on some wild goose chase. If I'm going to deploy them, it will be because I have solid evidence that Kimblee is in Baschool. Hearsay and guesswork are useless, or does Mustang teach otherwise?" Ed couldn't say anything, his mouth and fists trying too hard to restrain themselves from doing something they'd regret. "Henschel, is there a reason you keep sulking back there?"

"Sorry, sir," a man said from behind the group. "It's just…there's a woman here who says she has information on Solf J. Kimblee's location."

"Does she?" the chief asked, her raised eyebrow perfectly conveying her thoughts. "Very well, bring her in."

At this moment, Olivier finally stood and began walking towards where Henschel had exited. Ed followed after her, prepared to argue on her mobilization decision when this supposed informant walked through the door. He stopped, the sweat on his face increasing as the blood drained from it. The woman noticed him, as well, and offered a gleaming smile.

"Hello, Ed. What a surprise to see you here!"

Ed was ready to faint. Her face, her voice, the way she held herself. Now, he knew he wasn't crazy, because Trisha Elric was definitely right in front of him.

* * *

 **Author's Note: It was so much fun to write Olivier again, she's such a harsh and blunt badass. Anyway, Scar and Kimblee are back in play. I didn't get to work with them much in the first story, so I brought them in here to help close out the series, no matter how large their role is. I hope you enjoyed that twist, and the ending. There isn't much else to say. So, for now, I'm just going to ask you to Review and Dare to Be Silly.**


	8. Chapter 8

**I kind of liked being able to write the north after not including it in any of the previous stories. I hope you enjoy reading it. Let's go Chapter 8!**

* * *

Chapter 8

Ed's fingers tapped apprehensively on the cold, metal surface of the table. His face was etched into a scowl, his golden eyes peering through a few strands of his hair at the woman across from him. For her part, the woman who looked like Trisha Elric was making nary a sound, though she did give the occasional smile. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd convinced Chief Olivier to bring her into interrogation instead of an interview room. Probably not long, but the silence was eternal. After Ed was sure he'd had enough of it, he decided to break that silence.

"Who are you?" he asked pointedly. The woman tilted her head, almost like a curious dog.

"Surely you must know who I am," she answered coyly. Ed certainly had his ideas, but judging from the thin smile on her lips, the woman wasn't going to confirm or deny any of them. So, he ran with the most obvious answer in his brain.

"You're Sloth, right?" Ed spat. As expected, she betrayed nothing. "But why do you look like my mother?"

"Do I?" Her surprise was so feigned, it made Ed want to hurl. "What an eerie coincidence…"

"Cut the crap, stalker lady!" Ed finally snapped, slamming his automail hand onto the table. It buckled a little under the force of the blow. To the woman's credit, she didn't even flinch. "You've been following me since the weekend! So, I wasn't some answers, and you're going to give them to me before I punch your teeth in!"

"You'd hit a woman?" She sounded amused now, and it was just incensing Ed further. He knew that getting mad likely wasn't the best play, but with everything at stake, he genuinely couldn't care.

"Man or woman's got nothing to do with this," he hissed, leaning across the table to get in her face. "My family is out there because of you and your group. You're going to tell me where and how I can find your little bastard Wrath."

The slap that followed was so fast, Ed would have thought he'd imagined it were it not for the stinging pain on his face. He blinked a couple of times to bring himself to reality and focus on Sloth. Gone was the smile, replaced with eyes that looked like pools of frigid water, daring anyone to enter their depths. "And how are you any different?"

"Say what?" Ed questioned. Just as suddenly as the slap had come, the coy smile was back on Sloth's face. Ed was ready to go at her once again when the doors slammed open and Olivier stepped in.

"That's enough, Fullmetal. You're clearly not getting anywhere," she said briskly. As she did so, her steps carried her over to where Sloth was sitting, and she used one foot to turn the chestnut-haired woman to face her. "Regardless of how much you say now, any fool can tell you're hiding something of great importance. However, as I have no proof and since it's not my job, I won't push you further."

"Hey!" Ed cried out. Olivier stopped him by throwing her hand out. He certainly wasn't going to protest at that point; you didn't challenge Olivier Armstrong…ever.

"Regardless, my patience is wearing thin," she said coldly. Olivier's foot lifted and Sloth was able to split her legs just in time for Olivier to slam her boot in between them. "You said you have information on Solf J. Kimblee's whereabouts. If those words are not a lie, then speak or get the hell out of my station."

"Are you police always so brazen?" Sloth asked with a sigh. "Your commissioner was the same exact way; is it any wonder such a homogenized society became so corrupt?"

"Enough of this," Olivier sighed out. She reached down and grabbed her gun from her holster. Before Ed could protest, she held the gun to the woman's head. The scariest part was that it wasn't a bluff: Ed knew the chief of North PD well enough to definitively say that. She even saw fit to say as much. "Understand me: the only reason you are in this station is by my leave, to give me and my men the information they need. If you can't, you're of no use to me."

"You'd really pull the trigger on a potential informant?" Sloth questioned, although the vibrato in her voice betrayed her unease.

"I'd do it myself, and I'd get away with it," Olivier assured her. "You see, I'm not spineless like that commissioner of ours. I know when to pull a trigger. And trust me when I say my men will testify that it was done in self-defense. Remember the law of the north: you get careless, you get dead. Now, where is Kimblee?"

Sloth swallowed, the first time her cool composure had ever completely broken. Even Ed was certain that he'd forgotten how to breathe at this point. Finally, Sloth let her own breath go. "I don't know all the details."

"Liar," Ed challenged. Olivier shot him a withering look while Sloth didn't react at all, keeping her eyes on the woman holding the gun to her head.

"All I can say is that I was passing through the area," she continued on like he hadn't said a thing, "and I noticed a lot of cars and trucks outside Baschool…but I thought it was an abandoned mining town."

"Good," Olivier finally said after a few seconds of tense silence. She removed her gun and foot, kicking the chair slightly backward. "Now, get out!"

Sloth didn't need to be told twice, grabbing her coat and striding as quickly as she could for the door. When she reached it, she turned back briefly. "I'd behave yourself, Edward Elric."

Ed would have followed after her to ask her what she meant by that, but Olivier's hand gripped his shoulder and held him back. When Sloth was at last out of sight, the chief whipped Ed around to face her before shoving him into a nearby chair. She stared him down, and Ed felt that telltale shiver radiate down his spine. "Scar was right, which means you, he and Miles are going to Baschool with a taskforce, but I'm not putting your tiny ass in the field until I get some answers. Who was that woman? How do you know her?"

"Is this really necc-"

"Fullmetal, you know as well as anyone how the North PD works," the chief said, an icy glint flaring in her eyes. "I need complete trust with all my men, including temporary ones like you, so speak and say the things you're not saying."

"Come on…" Ed groaned. Not only did he want to get moving, but he really didn't want to tell the Ice Queen of all people about just what was going down with Father and Mustang, along with the reasons behind it.

"Just speak what you can," she finally said, a little softer, but still biting. "I'm not interested in Mustang's dirty laundry. Now hurry up. My trigger finger is getting itchy."

It wasn't a favorable situation for the elder Elric, but he also realized that divulging this information had always been an inevitability with Chief Olivier. Knowing this, he leaned forward on the chair and clasped his hands before beginning to relay the situation. He wouldn't tell her everything, though. "My family's been kidnapped. The vigilante named Truth is involved, and I suppose that woman is as well. Truth organized a prison breakout for Kimblee, so we figured that he was our best shot at finding them before anything could happen."

"Kidnapping, huh?" Olivier spat, as though she believed the act was one of cowardice. "Why your family?"

"I really couldn't say," Ed told her. It wasn't a lie; if he were to tell her the truth, it would land him, and countless others, in hot water. Olivier sighed, her reaction seeming to indicate she was neither pleased nor displeased with the situation.

"Very well," she stated after that moment of thought, "I'll put Buccaneer on task to tail her. Meanwhile, you'll be going with Miles, Scar and a very reasonable number of officers to Baschool. Just make sure not to die; I don't want to fill out the paperwork." She banged the door to the interrogation room open and left it, her long blonde hair swishing back and forth. All things considered, Ed felt that had gone well. Now, there was only one thing left to do before Baschool. He bolted out of his chair and made the short journey over to Falman.

"Officer Falman, I have a favor!" Ed said, a little too loudly, as he walked over to the older man's desk.

"It's detective!" said man snapped. "What do you need, Edward?"

"Ever heard of the term 'Philosopher's Stone'?" Ed asked. Falman looked like he was about the answer, but Ed wasn't interested in rehashing details. "You're like a walking encyclopedia, so somewhere in that noggin of yours has got to be a useful application of the word."

"Probably, but I can't just summon useless information on demand," Falman told him. If the detective's eyes could squint shut any further, Ed was sure they would have. "I need some time to recall any details."

"That's fine," Ed said. He reached across the desk and scrawled his number on a piece of paper. "That's my number. Give me a call when you have something."

"What are you? My boss?" Falman laughed out, snatching the paper from Ed and tossing it into the trash. From behind the detective, Ed could see Miles and an unfortunately un-cuffed Scar standing by. Obviously, he couldn't chat any longer.

As he walked towards his two new companions, he thumped Falman on the back and said, "You know you missed me, Officer Falman!" The man's response was predictable and Ed ignored it and joined up with the two Ishvalans he would be going with. "Good to see you again Detective Miles."

"Likewise, Edward," Miles responded, his eyes occasionally flicking over to Scar. He felt he was in safe hands as long as he stuck by one of the most capable detectives he'd ever met. Miles cleared his throat and stepped into the hallway, pulling Scar along with him, to leave the station. As Ed was putting his coat back on, his companion began speaking. "Chief Olivier has already sent uniformed officers to the scene. We're to observe and appraise the situation from there."

"And if Kimblee's there?" Ed asked, his voice muffled by his coat.

"Then we move in, take everyone into custody and get some information," Miles answered confidently. The exit doors opened, chilling Ed for the second time that day. The blizzard appeared to have passed, giving way to gleaming sun and an even colder wind. The blond folded his arms to keep the body heat in. "I doubt Kimblee will let us take him easily."

"Especially if there are weapons there…" Ed chattered right before he got into the car. He was surprised that they weren't alone, as Mick was in the backseat with Scar. Once they were settled and the car was on (along with the heat), Miles turned back to Scar.

"Are you familiar with Baschool?" Miles asked. Scar grunted before giving his answer.

"Assuming it hasn't changed in the days since I was there, yes," the killer answered. "The army used to use it as cold weather training for ambush tactics after the mining company that ran it closed down. So, yes, I'm quite familiar with it."

"Good. You can point out likely spots for this weapons deal to go down." Ed was a little relieved; if that was all that Scar had to do, then he would be happy. Another second with the serial killer was another second that the blond wanted to strangle him. More importantly, though, was that Ed was going to an unfamiliar place…to deal with a psychopath…and Drachman soldiers…to rescue his kidnapped family. _Damn…I can't believe I actually wish my life was normal._

Baschool wasn't a long trip to make, and before long, Ed could see the scaffolding that was indicative of a mining town. Of course, the sheer size of Baschool put smaller mining towns like Youswell in the east to shame. It also looked far more dangerous. If there was a single exterior surface not covered in snow, then it had icicles almost half his size hanging from it, just waiting to drop and puncture someone's head. Buildings with broken windows that appeared to be rattling in the wind littered the town, making it look like a maze from the outside. For the first time since yesterday, Ed was grateful they'd brought Scar along.

The car pulled to a stop at the end of the dirt road outside the town. When Ed got out, he realized it was less the ending of the road and more like the snow banks that covered the road were a little too large for their car to go over. The other trucks that had brought North PD officers to the scene seemed to have had no problem, their tire tracks cutting a swath through the snow. Behind Ed, Scar was exiting the car, still being roughly detained by Mick; how successful that was, was anyone's guess. Miles started leading the group into the ankle-high snow. Ed groaned under his breath, watching it fog up into the winter sky as he followed the older man.

"What's the situation here?" Miles asked once they had trudged long enough through the snow to reach the assembled officers. Ed was quick to notice, despite his frozen foot, that there were far more cars there than belonged to the officers. Clearly, the Drachmans were already here…although Ed found it strange that they'd parked so far away from the Drachman border when making such an illicit deal.

"We've confirmed movement in the city," one of the officers responded. "However, we've been unable to find where they were meeting."

"Have you caught sight of the fugitive, Kimblee?" Miles questioned sternly. The same officer shrugged, indicating that they either hadn't or were simply unsure. "You have a map, correct?"

"In the back," the officer responded. Miles nodded and he jerked his head over to one of the vehicles, a larger truck with a table and a map set up in the back. In the front seat, another officer appeared to be playing with the radio as Ed hopped in the back and Scar was quick to follow.

"You're up, Scar," Miles told the man. Ed scooted over to give distance between himself and Scar while the Ishvalan looked over the map of the abandoned city. At some point, he reached across the table to grab a red marker. At this point, he began to explain possibilities.

"Kimblee is likely in one of three places," Scar said. Ed found himself scowling at the man's voice, but listened to it all the same. "There's a large building here with plenty of cover. It's in the middle of town and thus had a near three-sixty-degree radius of vision around the area. They'd see us coming instantly, but it's tricky to get to. Then there's a bunker on the west edge of town; commanders used to use it for strategy meetings all the time. It's a warm place and well protected from the snow."

"And the third? It doesn't look like there are many buildings around there," Miles pointed out, indicating the big red circle around a sparsely dotted area. Ed didn't know why, but he felt it was the right place to go before Scar even answered.

"It's an old mine shaft north of the border," Scar told Miles. "Hasn't been used in probably three decades? Provides cover and has an inside route to the tunnels and mines that run beneath the town. Not the safest place necessarily, but whatever dynamite was there is useless now and the structure itself was always deemed as safe."

"That's where Kimblee is," Ed asserted. He couldn't explain why, but he certainly felt it in his gut. Miles lowered his glasses a fraction, to stare at Ed.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Edward," he told the younger man sternly. "We'll have to split into three units. I very much doubt that they're in the central building. They'd have to navigate the maze of the city if something went wrong, just to get out of here. Instead, we'll leave a unit behind here. I'll lead a unit of men to the bunker. Since you're so interested, Edward, why don't you and Scar check out the mineshaft?"

"Why do I have to work with him?" Ed snapped, pointing at the murderous Ishvalan.

"Because you're an unarmed civilian," Miles told him bluntly, "and I can't babysit you. Detective Mick will make sure our friend doesn't stray. In fact…Scar, I want you to make an oath to me, as an Ishvalan brother."

Scar looked up, staring at the only other Ishvalan in the truck. While the two were holding their staring contest, the radio in the truck crackled, something about another impending snowstorm reaching them that afternoon. Ed figured they'd just have to be out of there before then. At last, Scar cleared his throat. "I swear on the blood of Ishvala, and all my fallen brothers and sisters, that I will allow no harm to come to Edward Elric."

"That's good enough for me," Miles concluded with a satisfied nod. "Is that all right with you, Edward?"

"Fine," Ed answered begrudgingly. He brushed past Scar to hop out of the truck and into the bitter cold. "But if he comes back bruised, I'm blaming the mine shaft."

"Fair enough," Miles conceded, following the blond out of the truck. "All right, listen up! We're here for two objectives: stop a weapons trade and capture Solf J. Kimblee, alive is preferable, so that we can get some intel about what Drachma's plans are for the weapons. I want you all to exercise extreme caution. Kimblee is a careful and violent man. Who knows what tricks he may have up his sleeve. Kenny, Harrison, Jane, Ford, you all are with me. Lester and Conrad, with Fullmetal, Mick and Scar; keep a close eye on them."

"Yes, sir!" the two units responded proudly with a salute.

"The rest of you, guard these trucks," Miles ordered, his tone indicating that it was imperative. "This is our rendezvous point. Anybody who isn't a part of our group approaches, shoot them. Now, let's go."

"We'll serve as your bodyguards, Mr. Fullmetal, sir," said a young officer, probably almost ten years his junior. It almost made Ed feel really old, and he hated it.

"Don't call me sir, and I can protect myself just fine," Ed said irritably. He didn't wait for their predictable responses, instead kicking at the snow as he followed after Miles' group. Scar soon passed him, brushing through the snow like it may as well have been air. The ex-forensics specialist supposed that was what happened when you trained in all different kinds of terrain. The bunker was approaching now, and there seemed to be some lights on inside, but Scar diverted them away, heading north. Looking up, the tall mountain that served as the border between Amestris and Drachma known as Mt. Briggs loomed over them.

The wheels in Ed's head turned, grinding towards a somewhat uncomfortable conclusion.

"Wow, that's huge…" Mick exclaimed in a harsh whisper, almost mistakable for the wind. For a moment, Ed though he was talking about the mountain until he saw the large scaffolding that showed the approach of the mine shaft. It was substantially large, stretching up as high as some of the buildings that surrounded it.

Scar slowed down suddenly and above the howling wind, Ed could definitively hear voices…only they didn't sound Drachman. None of them did, at all. At the edge of the mine shaft's entrance, Scar had perched himself, kneeling down and glancing into the shaft. Ed reluctantly joined him and gazed down as well. The voices were still somewhat muffled, but Ed assuredly heard the psychotic laugh that had seared itself in his brain seventeen years ago. Kimblee was definitely there. He wasn't alone, either, as expected. The unexpected thing, though, was that there were far fewer people than expected. And where were the weapons?

Ed shifted a little further forward, almost teetering on the edge to catch more of their conversation clearly. As he did so, he got a much better look at Kimblee. For someone that had been in prison for nigh on two decades, he looked relatively in shape. He was dressed pretty sharply, too: a white suit adorning his figure, accented with a similar color fedora. Ed had to wonder if Father had provided him the suit or if he'd killed someone and taken it. From where Ed's automail foot was planted, some snow shifted, tumbling into the mine shaft. Thankfully, its sound was concealed by the conversation rising up.

"This is it?" Kimblee was asking. Unable to get the best view on what the psychopath was talking about, Ed shimmied forward even more. "Hardly looks valuable."

"That's worth more than gold," the man he was with answered. Ed's uncertainty faded, replaced with gut-churning realizations: these people were _not_ from Drachma. "You know how long we had to stay on General Ivan's detail to get this information?"

"You're being rewarded, right? Fair trade, if you ask me," Kimblee responded with a shrug. "Besides, hasn't Father been funding you? You've been compensated well enough."

"Ah ah, not yet," the other man said, holding his palm out. "I need those weapons we were promised so I can sell them in Drachma. My buyer's waited long enough and he's willing to pay a lot. Now, pay up. That's what we agreed on. Or did we not just broker a deal?"

Kimblee didn't answer for a moment. He just held up the item in his hand, giving Ed his first good look. It was a flash drive, and from the way the other man was speaking, it must have contained some kind of Drachman military secrets. What was Father's real plan in all of this? Down below, Kimblee started to smile. "I have a question for you: do you recognize me?"

"I could care less about you," the man answered. "I just came here to broker a deal with Father's guy. I get him the information he needs; he gets me what I need to keep doing business."

"I don't do deals," Kimblee said, the smile not leaving his face. "That's not what people hire me for."

"Whatever. Just pay me, or I put a bullet in your-hey!" Ed wasn't all too surprised at the man's reaction, given that Kimblee had tipped his head back and chucked the flash drive down his throat. The man was flabbergasted by the action that he didn't even fire the gun he was now holding on Kimblee. Thanks to his lapse in attention, Kimblee managed to reach forward, pry the gun from his hands and shoot him in the chest.

"I do cleanup," Kimblee told the man who was bleeding onto the snow-laden mineshaft. "And this is supposed to be a weapons deal gone wrong."

"Y…you…" The man wheezed out, but before he could finish, his life had expired. Kimblee just looked at his gun, and Ed noted it was of Drachman make and model. Somehow, things were starting to come together.

Yet luck abandoned Ed in that moment. The snow beneath his feet shifted and before he could grab onto anything, all of the snow began to slide into the mineshaft. Realizing that he was being pulled along with it, Ed decided to simply prepare for the inevitable landing. He noticed mid-fall that Kimblee saw it happening, too. Finally, the snow collapsed into a pile at the base of the mine shaft like flour puffing up. Ed landed on his butt, his automail having absorbed most of the shock.

"Edward Elric," Kimblee commented. When Ed looked up, he found that Kimblee seemed entirely unsurprised, as though he knew he was coming. "It's been a long time."

"Clearly not long enough. You should be in jail, nutcase," Ed spat, rubbing his sore butt just a little. Kimblee tipped his fedora back just a little. "So, what's on that flash drive?"  
"I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth," Kimblee said, answering Ed's first statement, but not his second. "Father evidently had use of my skillset. It's been a long time since someone afforded me the opportunity."

"The opportunity to be a psycho killer? Yeah, sounds real great," Ed drawled sardonically. "Since you seem to know that bearded bastard so well, why don't you answer some questions of mine. You've always liked talking."

"I don't, though," Kimblee said, shoving his hands inside his coat pockets. "I actually don't know the guy at all. I've just heard his name, done a few dealings with Wrath in prison. When he offered me a job the other day which included breaking me out of prison, I was more than happy to re-polish my skills."

"I take it you're the new Pride, then, since Selim's dead and all," Ed asked. A sickening lump was rising in his throat. Kimblee wasn't one to give a response in this instance, but his silence was enough to know. It was distressingly disturbing. Father was practically rebuilding Homunculus Corp, or at least the spirit of it. Naming Kimblee as Pride, despite having next to no contact with the deranged hitman pretty much clinched that as a fact. That anyone would put together an organization comprising of Seven Sins again was enough to deepen the scowl on Ed's face. Right now, however, there was something more important to contend with: getting that flash drive.

"You know, I thought you were here to do some kind of weapons deal with the Drachmans," Ed said, trying to draw the conversation back onto the topic at hand.

"It is a weapons deal…that's gone horribly wrong," Kimblee informed him. He pointed the gun that was still in his hand, over to the dead man. "An Amestrian citizen just got murdered with Drachman weaponry for no supposed reason other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"That's the aim?" Ed asked, getting just what Kimblee was hinting. "You realize that could start a war with Drachma, right? That's what you want?"

"Why should I care about war?" Kimblee shot back. "I've been in prison for seventeen years! Nothing could make me feel more alive than a war!"

"You've got some weird reasoning for working with that bearded bastard," Ed spat. Kimblee kept smiling. "What's next then? Blowing up the country like Archer did? Or are you going to blow Drachma up instead?"

"Edward, if you wanted a look at this, all you had to do was ask," Kimblee finally said tauntingly, pressing a hand to his chest and gagging up the flash drive. It looked surprisingly unharmed as the black-haired man held it between his fingers. This was Ed's chance. He didn't say anything, but sprinted into action. It was a good thing his cold weather automail was so light; Winry had made it well, and he'd have to thank her after he rescued her.

There were only a few feet of distance between himself and Kimblee, and Ed closed it quickly. The former detective attempted to raise the gun and fire at him, but Ed was running on adrenaline and would be having none of it. As he reached his opponent, he spun, his automail hand knocking the gun away from him while his flesh elbow collided with Kimblee's gut. A railing was nearby, and Kimblee crashed into it, letting go of the flash drive as it fell into the depths of the mine shaft below. Not the most favorable outcome that Ed could have imagined, but better than Kimblee handing it off to Father.

"Urgh…" the older male spluttered a bit, and Ed felt a slight sense of satisfaction. No matter how in shape Kimblee might have looked, he clearly wasn't used to fighting opponents. Ed grabbed his collar now and smashed him against the railing, which was beginning to fall to pieces. It was a threat if there ever was one.

"What's on that flash drive? Why are you here? Where's my family?" Ed demanded, hardly giving the man a chance to breathe, let alone answer. Kimblee grinned at him, making Ed's stomach churn unpleasantly. He then began to laugh.

"You're floundering in the dark, aren't you, Edward?" he cackled out. Ed just pushed him a little further, threatening to tip the man over the edge. Of course, Ed knew he wouldn't go through with it, but he hoped Kimblee didn't realize this. "I'm in this for one reason: I want to see how things unfold. I truly have no idea what's on that flash drive. I was only supposed to pick it up and kill a few people. That's the same exact reason I know nothing about your family. It's not my job."

"You're lying!" Ed roared. Kimblee _had_ to know something; he was the best chance they had.

"I'm not…all I want to see is how the truth will come out. How will the people take it? How will it weigh on _your_ consciousness, Edward Elric?" Kimblee said, calming his laughter down to say that. Ed's breath slowed, fearing the implication that Kimblee was making.

"Just answer the-" Kimblee's hand swung out, grabbing part of the metal railing. Ed barely stepped back in time to avoid the swipe, part of his jacket being torn. Ed's eyes focused on the damaged railing and realized it was in more of an advanced state of disrepair than he'd thought if Kimblee could pull off a chunk so easily. The madman lunged at him, swinging the rod. Ed turned to the side as Kimblee swung before kicking out with his automail leg and hitting him in his side. The black-haired psychopath turned to face him with a leering grin and crazy eyes. Ed drew his leg in and stepped back.

Solf J. Kimblee had lost it. He may have retained some of his philosophy from his younger years, but his body language and actions said he didn't care about what he was doing. Winning, losing, living, dying…all Kimblee cared about was making a splash. He proved this by chucking the rod at Ed's head. The blond ducked, but it seemed to be enough time for him to pull out a trump card: dynamite. Ed scoffed.

"You know those things are too wet to be of any use," Ed pointed out. Kimblee's grin didn't falter.

"As they are, sure," the madman replied. "What about their components?" Ed's eyes widened in horror. If there was one thing Kimblee was known for, it was making bombs out of nothing. Or so he had heard.

"Don't be an idiot. You'll collapse the mine shaft and kill us both."

"Interesting proposition…Let's see how this turns out. I don't fear death." Ed grit his teeth and prepared to run and tackle him. Then the rod he had thrown at him came sailing out of nowhere and ripped into Kimblee's stomach. Ed whipped around to see Scar there, his hand flexing murderously. He looked like he had made some kind of lucky gymnast landing and he was now approaching a spluttering Kimblee.

"Good to hear you do not fear death," Scar said in a growl. Ed ran to his side just as the man kneeled over Kimblee's bleeding body. "Then you won't mind going to God a little early, although I have no doubt he would turn you away."

"You…I know you…" Kimblee coughed out, blood spattering on his white shirt. Ed was panicking inside. It was obvious that Kimblee wasn't long for this world. "Ah…the scarred Ishvalan…I knew your brother."

"So you remember? Good. Think of him in your final moments."

"Scar!" Ed yelled. The Ishvalan turned his head to the blond. "We need him alive. I need the information to save my family."

"Very well," Scar expressed, now grabbing the blood-drenched collar. "Before you perish, where are the Elrics?"

"Don't…know…only Wrath…" Kimblee hacked out. Ed swallowed. It wasn't much of an answer, but at the very least Ed knew that Wrath was their best source of information. Now he had to trust that Al and Mustang would track the little bastard down. Scar was looking straight at the blonde, and Ed nodded. He was done: Kimblee was useless.

He wasn't about to watch Scar kill the man, though. Instead, he stood and decided to look for that flash drive, lost in the depths below. The last thing he saw as he descended the steps was Scar straddling the man. He heard nothing more but a slight "snap". Not long after, he reached the bottom and found the little red rectangle that was the flash drive. The only problem was that it was cracked and broken. Sighing at their misfortune, Ed trudged back up the stairs to where Scar was crawling up a rope that was lowered. Kimblee's body was limp on the ground. Ed simply averted his gaze and climbed to the top, where Mick was waiting.

"Detective Miles and the others have finished their sweeps, caught some of the weapons traders," the detective informed him. "I just radioed him about Kimblee. He wants to meet back at the cars. Looks like none of them knew anything."

"No surprise," Ed spat, tucking the flash drive into his pocket. Father's plan was clearly meticulous in planning for every detail. Not playing his hand of having the flash drive was the best move for the moment. It seemed like Scar wasn't saying anything, either, allowing himself to be cuffed once more. Ed just hung back, continuing to follow the group back to the cars. When they finally arrived within view, Ed's phone vibrated, though he was surprised he could even get a signal out here. Nevertheless, he answered it. "What did you find, Falman?"

"Army call sign," Falman stated, sounding more than a little impressed with himself. "Took a while to remember, but I remembered that it was a term used by Special Forces operatives about twenty or so years ago. It's fallen out of use now, but some people may remember what it means."

"So you remember what context it's used in, but not what it actually means?" Ed asked with a little grumble. He should have been happy at receiving such information, but it felt like the issue was just getting confused further. "Sometimes your memory really astounds me, Officer Falman."

" _You_ try to remember a random detail from twenty years back," Falman snapped at him. "And it's _Detective_ , damn it!"

"All right, all right," Ed said soothingly. He would have laughed, but a rather sobering thought hit his brain. "Well, crap…I guess we still need Scar, then." Falman didn't respond, opting for hanging up the phone. Ed pocketed his and continued trudging through the snowy turf until he reached Miles and the other officers. He looked to be putting Scar in a police car while holding a conversation.

"…matter. My conscience is clear," Scar said. Ed had no doubt that he was talking about having killed Kimblee. Miles didn't look particularly happy, and Ed picked up the pace.

"Hold up!" Ed yelled out, causing both Ishvalans to look at him. Ed finished approaching, his hands resting on his knees as the cold air burned his lungs. "Philosopher's Stone. It's a call sign for something in the Special Forces. What does it mean?"

Scar didn't answer, just blinking a little. After a spate of howling wind blew through, he finally opened his mouth to respond. "I have no idea."

"Scar…" Miles said warningly. Scar rustled a little bit.

"I honestly don't know," Scar said, and Ed could have cursed. He really sounded like he was telling the truth. "However, I may know someone who does: my old commander. He's retired now, living in the town of Asbec. I've kept in contact with him while I was in prison. He would know just about everything there is to know."

"Asbec…that's not far from here," Miles commented. He lowered his glasses a little and looked at Ed, who was now staring at the detective imploringly. "All right…I'll leave the processing of these criminals to the more senior officers. Detective Mick, could you assist with informing Chief Olivier about what happened at Baschool? Fullmetal, Scar and I are heading for Asbec."

"Yes, sir, but-" Mick began to slightly protest, scratching his beard a little. Miles looked to the man and gave a soft smile.

"Don't worry. I'll bring Scar back in one piece," he told the detective. Mick nodded in acceptance, though it wasn't like he had a choice. "Now, let's be on the move or we'll waste daylight."

Those words were actually music to the chemist's ears. Scar finished getting into the backseat of the police car, still handcuffed. Miles skirted around to take the driver's seat while Ed slid into the passenger's seat. None of the men spoke a single word to each other, making the only sounds heard to be the wind and the car starting. Ed's hands clenched, with his automail thankfully on the inside. He _hated_ this feeling of worry in his chest, all the more increased by the flash drive in his pocket. His curiosity was asking himself just what was on it, but the more prudent side of his brain was wondering if this was all too easy.

Father had thus far proven himself to be a shrewd tactician. Yet he let a loose cannon like Kimblee run around. Then again, it wasn't like he'd told the man anything, so Ed had to wonder just what Father's plan was in making a move like that. How did it benefit him? Was he always meant to obtain possession of the flash drive, or was that a miscalculation? And what about the Philosopher's Stone? Would it get him any closer to his family? Or was he just spinning his wheels?

Ed wanted to scream.

Thankfully, the drive to Asbec wasn't long, even if it was just as cold as Ed's whole time in the north had been. Stepping out of the car, Ed wrinkled his nose. He certainly hadn't expected the place to be close to a slum (though it was certainly well-kept), and he would have never guessed that an ex-Special Forces commander would live in the area. Still cuffed, Scar took control and went walking towards a large building that looked sort of like a meeting hall. Miles was attached to his side in seconds, and Ed was following behind. People littered the streets, and Ed very quickly felt out of place. It didn't take him long to figure out why.

Everyone there was an Ishvalan, and he was the only one that wasn't. It was a little unsettling, and Ed was glad to finally get inside the meeting hall. Sure, there was a cluster of people there, too, but at least they weren't looking at him in suspicion. Feeling the edge being taken off, Ed finally noticed Scar shaking hands with an older man who sported a bald head and a rather impressive white moustache.

"Edward Elric, I'd like you to meet my old commander," Scar said, stepping aside for Ed to look at the older man, who he decided to call "The Commander". He extended his automail hand and the Commander shook it.

"It would seem you have also seen quite a bit of action," he remarked upon seeing the hand. "I recognize you from the papers."

"Sorry, I don't know who you are," Ed confessed. The Commander chuckled and indicated for Ed to take a seat at a nearby table. The blond obliged him and all four took a seat, with Ed sitting across from the Commander.

"I'm no one important. Just an ex-army commander enjoying his quiet retirement," he said with another chuckle. "Very unlike yourself. You were the one to capture Scar?"

"He was," Scar answered, and there seemed to be no malice in it. The Commander frowned a little.

"Interesting…" he mused under his breath. Ed leaned in on the table to listen closer. "Seeking vengeance is such a curious thing, isn't it?"

"Huh?" Ed asked, not understanding where the man was going with this. Said man breathed deeply.

"Vengeance is a long road," he began to say. "Once you start down its path, you'll walk it until the day you die. Yet, the both of you have found a way to close its cycle by choosing a common goal: saving a life that isn't your own." Ed swallowed, unsure of what to say. The man chortled, most likely from the look on his face. "You came to ask me something, however. Ask away, and we can see what I can answer."

Ed looked over to Miles, who shrugged as if to say, "This is your show". Scar also seemed to have his own gaze riveted on Ed, though the blond tried to ignore this fact. After turning his gaze back to the Commander, Ed finally spoke. "What does the term 'Philosopher's Stone' mean to you?"

"Hmmm…" the Commander sighed out. " _That_ is a term I have not heard for a very long time."

"So, it was a Special Forces thing?" Miles asked, his tone intrigued. The Commander folded his hands on his lap and stared sternly at Ed.

"Yes, we used it to refer to a tactical movement of gathering the enemies' supplies and weaponry," the Commander informed him. "We'd then use that to strike back at them. In other words, we'd pool together all resources to score a decisive victory."

Ed's brow furrowed. It was a tactic, but hardly completely revolutionary…and definitely inapplicable to whatever they were trying to find. "That doesn't help me much…"

"It went out of practice as a term," the Commander told them, like it explained it away. "The army got a strange idea in its head that since pooling resources worked so well, they should pool together funds from every major department. It started as an initiative to begin an Ishvalan Draft, which led to the creation of places like Asbec: Ishvalans fleeing from their hometown to avoid being forced into the army, or persecution."

"Ishval's pretty different, now," Ed pointed out. The Commander only responded with a little nod.

"The issue, and the term, became an unwanted topic once it shifted towards the potential for a massive nuclear project or strike. No one wanted world war, so the term became useless."

Ed's eyes narrowed, and his hand subconsciously patted the flash drive in his pocket. Was that Father's end game? A nuclear strike on foreign soil after pinning terrorist attacks like Baschool on them? Or would he go the Archer route and blow his own country up? All Ed knew was that the broken flash drive in his pocket would be important. That led Ed to a singular conclusion and caused him to stand. "Thanks for your help."

"My pleasure."

Ed nodded. It was time for him to get back to the main scene.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I'll admit it: this was a very difficult chapter to write. Clearly my schedule is catching up with me, ha ha…So, Kimblee is dead. I decided both he and Scar had very little, and in the case of the former, anticlimactic, roles in the first story. This time they had a little more. I honestly don't have much else to say, but I can tell you that The Commander is the monk that speaks to Scar about his brother in the series. So, for now, that's all. I hope you enjoyed. If you did, please Review and Dare to Be Silly.**


	9. Chapter 9

**It's been over a year since I watched either version of FMA, so I decided to do it again. The irony you find can be hilarious. Whatever, let's enjoy Chapter 9!**

* * *

Chapter 9

"Are you sure about sending Scar, sir?"

Roy looked up from his desk and the paperwork on it. He clearly wasn't alone, though with Ed's departure to the north, it seemed quieter. What had surprised him, however, was that Feury, and not Hawkeye, had been the one to ask it. Deciding that he was barely paying attention to the papers in front of him in the first place, the commissioner put his pen down to look at his bespectacled subordinate. Feury wasn't intimidated in the slightest, and he was glad about that. This way, he could have an honest conversation with the man.

"You think I made the wrong decision?" he asked, interlocking his fingers together. Feury fidgeted on his seat just a little bit while adjusting his glasses.

"Just seems a bit extreme, and Edward's attitude is obviously less that pleasant towards him."

"I'll be surprised if Scar doesn't come back in a body bag," Hawkeye commented from her corner of the room. Mustang watched her for a minute before sighing loudly.

"I agree. It's probably a crap move, but it's also an unexpected one," he pointed out to the two of them. "Scar becomes a wildcard, simply because Father would probably never expect he and Ed to work together. Besides, he may be a killer, but I'd wager a guess that he knows more about Kimblee than any of us. I've already said all this."

"Roy," Hawkeye said sternly, and he knew to take her seriously, "we're just worried about what this kind of move could mean for the future. You let a capable killer go after his brother's murderer. We have to expect lash back."

"Which we'll deal with when we come to it," he argued back. Mustang bit back a sigh. "Look, right now, Father holds all the cards. He controls the game. I want to get ahead of that. If that means making some risky moves, then I'm all for it. Or are we all just willing to let the Elrics die?"

"That's not what we're-" The doors banged open, framing the muscular Armstrong in the light behind them.

"Sir, you have a video call from Havoc, Breda and Brosh!" he announced loudly. Clearly his usual lack of volume control had returned. Nevertheless, Mustang nodded at his words and turned to the computer. It was strange that all three would be contacting him, given that they were working on different cases. Shaking off that thought, Mustang connected the video call.

"I'm surprised to see all three of you contacting me at once. Making progress?" he asked once he saw the three men on the screen. It seemed that they were all at a desk in the East PD.

"Sure, let's call it that," Havoc snorted. Roy looked at him sternly and he got his act back together. "We found a common link and decided to work on this case together."

"Please don't tell me this common link was the anesthetic," Mustang groaned out in frustration. "That horse has been beaten to death too much in the last week."

"Nah," Breda admitted, "but it's close. We're looking at Mugear and Company again. I mean, we still have no idea what the Philosopher's Stone is, but we finally got ahold of Drake's phone records. Turns out his last call was to Mugear, or, at least, the company. There's no way of knowing the exact extension."

"What about your case, Brosh? Other than the Red Water, how does the case connect to Mugear?"  
"Apparently, Van Hohenheim was contacted by Mr. Mugear recently," Brosh explained. "The University claims that all of it was for some sort of seminar, but I'm not so sure that's all there is to it."

"Is this your intuition or hard evidence?" Mustang asked harshly. Brosh stood his ground, but the detectives in the room flinched at his tone of voice. "I need hard evidence to prove anything further. This is a top priority case, now."

"I know that, sir," Brosh assured him. In the video, Havoc and Breda had shrunk back a little bit, looking almost scared, while the younger homicide detective held his ground. "That's why I did a little digging. Van Hohenheim had made some odd expenditures lately. It's hard to track them, but he looked into obtaining some patent information on the Red Water."

"That seems slightly ironic," Hawkeye commented.

"Anyway, that gave us an idea, chief," Havoc piped in. "We decided to look into Drake's own financials, which were about as complicated as you'd expect for a spy, meaning not very."

"You know, except for some of those pesky offshore accounts that had deposits from Xenotime Holdings," Breda concluded. Mustang's brow furrowed. How intricate was this web of deception and murder that Father was weaving?

"Xenotime Holdings is a Mugear-owned company," called Al from behind Armstrong. The hulking man moved aside to let him into the room. The younger Elric brother looked exhausted, evidenced by the number of times he was stirring his coffee cup. "I know, because Ed and I looked into it when he bought up AlChemistry Labs. It deals with financial aspects for the most part."

"Like…moving large amounts of money for the company?" Brosh asked. Al nodded, and Roy finally noticed that he was not looking happy.

"I don't know what my dad was up to in all this," he explained to them, "but there's something really wrong going on at Mugear and Company. I just tried to log in to check my e-mail, but I was denied access. I know Mugear sent us on vacation and all, but this seems just a little excessive."

"Do you think Mugear, himself, is involved, Al?" Hawkeye asked. To this, Al appeared to shake his head. Mustang deflated a little; their best chance of figuring out whatever was going on at Mugear and Company had slipped away.

"He seemed pretty surprised to find out how the Red Water was being used," Al clarified for all of them. "I might have an idea of who ordered whatever with all that money, though. With my current state of login, however, I'm not really sure how far I could get you."

"I can help with that," Feury assured him. The bespectacled detective rolled to the side to give Al a place to sit, which the scientist took. "You tell me where to go, and I'll take us there."

"Sit tight, you three," Mustang said to the detectives on the other end of the video call. "We'll let you know when we have something substantial to work off of."

"You got it, boss!" Havoc said with a salute, and then the call ended.

Mustang waited just a moment after the call ended, and his subordinates continued to look at him. His next orders were going to be critical; he knew that. He was standing on a precipice, a slippery slope, and a wrong order could send everything tumbling out of any order he was trying to scrape up.

"Your orders, sir?" Hawkeye asked sternly. Time was up.

"Feury, help Alphonse get into his account and find those answers we need," he ordered. All three of the detectives in the room remained silent, swallowing something nonexistent in their throats. Armstrong was the first to speak.

"Without a warrant?" he asked softly, the level of his voice indicating his trepidation on the subject.

"It's not ideal, so do it discreetly," Mustang told all of them. Al seemed to look between all of them in confusion. "We don't have enough proof that anything's there, and beyond that, I don't have the time to wait around for a judge's approval, especially when we don't know how many of them are in Father's pocket."

"So, you believe the Drake case is connected?" Hawkeye questioned, tapping her chin in contemplation.

"I do." He wasn't giving any other reasoning, though. Thankfully, each of his subordinates just accepted his explanation. Hawkeye nodded, and she led Armstrong out of the room while Al continued to sit next to Feury. He was saying something and pointing to the screen, but Mustang wasn't really hearing it. His mind was elsewhere, thinking back on the threatening conversation with Father. He wanted him to choose: his job or the Elrics. Roy's knuckles whitened as his fist tightened on the desk. The man was diabolically insane, and he'd make sure to pull out a victory no matter what Father tried. He'd save both.

Even with that conviction, something was still niggling in the back of his head. He'd worked for so many years to bring the police department to this position, to become commissioner. Roy wouldn't just let that all slip away, and if it meant taking some unsavory actions…then he'd have to do that. Rules be damned when lives were at stake. Fighting down the lump in his throat, Roy looked at the phone. Not that he expected it to ring so soon. Still, he hoped that Ed would walk away with something to sort out this whole mess…especially where it concerned his family.

 _Family…_ The word almost seemed so foreign to the commissioner. He had never really known family. His parents had died at a young age, and his aunt and her "daughters" were hardly family material. Even now, after Madam Christmas had passed away from lung and liver disease, and Vanessa had taken over, the little bar hardly felt like a home; his sisters hardly felt like a family. Ironically, the closest thing to a family that Roy had ever had was Riza and her father, and that couldn't be considered a true family, no matter how much he may have hoped for that with her so many years ago. No, his job and all that he had accomplished had become his life and his legacy. To an outsider, it would seem a little sad, but Roy took pride in his work.

Then he thought about the Elrics. Spending time with them, bonding with them…For the short time that he and Ed had really associated with one another before falling out of touch, the Elrics had been something of a family to him. Even Alphonse exemplified that for him. The commissioner looked over at the younger Elric brother, his eyes furiously gazing at the screen. Maybe it hadn't been coincidence that he and Edward Elric had been brought together. That was enough to reaffirm his decisions.

"Can you access the earnings report?" Al asked sharply. The voice was enough to remind Mustang of all the other work he needed to do. Scratching his head a little, he pulled the next stack of papers over and began to speedread them. Quite honestly, it was hard to focus when Al and Feury's discussions were no longer quite so muted.

"Does Mugear usually move this amount of money?" the bespectacled man asked.

"I have no idea," Al confessed. "Ed would usually be the one looking into the finances of everything. I dealt more with the politics and science of everything. But those kinds of expenditures speak of something big."

"You have something, then?" Mustang asked, purposely interrupting the two. Feury peered over the top of the computer screen with a somewhat skeptical expression.

"Not entirely sure," Feury said. Before waiting for the request to come, Feury turned the computer screen around. Roy could see multiple windows open on the screen, each one displaying a table of some sort containing long lists of numbers. Given the time, he no doubt could have passed through it all, but as the situation currently stood, he left that up to Feury.

"Alphonse was right. He _was_ locked out of his account," his subordinate answered, "but I was able to force my way in. Still not sure why they'd lock him out, though…"

"I need the point," Mustang emphasized. Al scooted his chair around and began pointing at the screen.

"Mugear is _very_ organized. He uses Xenotime Holdings to handle all financial dealings so that the plain company reports can almost always turn a profit. He's shrewd that way," Al informed him. Normally, Roy would have urged him along, but something told him that this information was building towards something. "So, Xenotime does most of the money moving; stuff we can't access. This also streamlines most reports for materials and such. If anything's off, it's easier to notice…usually."

"Let me guess: something's off?" Mustang questioned, his eyes flashing in only slight amusement. Al nodded at him.

"Mm, only this wasn't as easy to catch as I thought," Al said. "Brother might deal with the more financial aspect of things, but that doesn't mean I don't have my full range of experience dealing with inventory and material reports."

"We'll just show you, sir," Feury assured him. Roy saw the mouse pointer move across the screen, clicking on a batch of reports. To his eyes, they all looked like a random gibberish of chemical compounds; only the numbers were making any sense. "These are some of the more recent material orders, or so Alphonse tells me."

"In particular, these are ours at AlChemistry Labs," Al continued. "On the right is the official inventory report and package delivery form. On the left, however, is the report we get mandatorily sent to our e-mail when we place an order. This one, in particular, is for the materials to make Red Tincture. Notice anything different?"

Roy didn't want to admit it, but the whole sheet just continued to look like gibberish. He bit down on it and took a look, anyway. Despite not understanding every chemical term available, the commissioner still happened to grasp at exactly what Al was implying. "The numbers are different…they're higher on the official report. How is that possible?"

"We…discovered the other day that a division of the company was developing the weaponized version of our anesthetic, Red Water. That easily accounts for some of the added compounds. All packages are checked at the front desk and then split up to deliver to the various departments. Mugear keeps an internal log over the split, but most departments are just delivered their own reports."

"So, there's no way of knowing where the extra parts were shipped to or who paid for them to produce Red Water explicitly?"

"Not without talking to Mugear, but that's not the problem, since we already connected that to Mr. Drake," Al expressed. His eyes were hard, and Mustang could tell that he was about to get to his scariest point. "The scariest thing is that the company deals a lot with the government…and on that same report, it ordered three batches of a highly radioactive component."

"Like for a bomb?" Mustang asked grimly. Al just shook his head and shrugged, indicating he was just as unaware of the answer. Was this it? Was this Father's game? Or was it another smokescreen like so many other plays? He truly didn't know what to think, but he knew there was only one thing he could do: speak to Mugear. Swallowing the rather uncomfortable lump in his throat, Mustang picked up his office phone. "Hawkeye, grab Armstrong and come back to the office."

He didn't hear anything from the other side other than the click of the phone hanging up.

"What now, sir?" Feury asked, but Mustang held up a finger to shush him. It took only a minute for the other two to arrive, and as they were stepping through the door, the commissioner was once more connecting the computer with his detectives over in East City. The others waited silently for the screen to display the three.

"What do you have, boss?" Breda asked, a sandwich sticking out of his mouth.

"I want all three of you to get over to Mugear and Company. Don't do anything until I get there, though," Mustang ordered them. The effect was rather instantaneous as everyone reacted with shock to this particular proclamation, except for Al, who was unaware of the implications his statement carried. Even Riza had raised an eyebrow.

"You're coming here, boss?" Havoc asked in utter amazement. Roy could see Al's head swiveling around the room, looking lost at understanding what was going on. "To what do we owe the pleasure of you doing meager fieldwork again?"

"Mugear is a big name," he explained to all of them. "I think you'll need a little more juice than the position of detective is able to provide. No offense, of course."

"None taken, chief," Havoc chuckled out. "I hate dealing with that politics crap, anyway. Give me a gun and a chance to walk the beat any day of the week."

"Havoc."

"Yeah, chief?" came the innocuous reply.

"Get moving or you may end up _having_ to walk the beat." That ended the conversation very quickly as the three detectives signed off. Roy stood now, grabbing his badge and his gun from his desk. "Hawkeye, I'll need you to come with me. Armstrong, you're in charge of the station until I return."

"Understood, Commissioner!" Armstrong saluted him and then thundered out of the doors and into the station proper. Feury's eyes widened, but he still followed after his boss, nodding his head a little at the remaining three in the room. It was a little odd to see him gone at this point.

"Mr. Mustang, I think I should come along as well," Al said pointedly. Mustang turned his head to glance at the younger Elric brother with a rather obvious frown. "Mr. Mugear knows me, and he may be more willing to share information with you if I'm in the same room. It's worth a try, isn't it?"

Roy had to admit that there was much merit in Al's idea, despite the fact that he didn't like the idea of taking a civilian along on a rather obvious police investigation. Then again, having someone who knew the lay of the land and the politics of the company along was far more of a boon than a hindrance. Of course, Al was even more transparent in his intentions than his brother, and Fullmetal was _very_ transparent. "All right, you can come along. But I don't want you to lie to me: Ed wants you to stick by me so he can track down Wrath, right?"

"Pretty much…" Al answered him with a rather sheepish laugh. Glad that the potential farce was out of the way, Roy finished walking around his desk, snapping his gun into his holster. He then started leading the other two out of his office, making sure to lock up behind him, now that Rose was gone.

"Are we certain that all this will lead us to Wrath, sir?" Hawkeye asked as they tromped down the hallways.

"Not entirely," was the simple answer. All we have now are a collection of random facts that we're hoping to fit together as pieces of a puzzle. Red Water had been used in multiple Wrath cases, and those were gathered by Drake, who was being paid by Mugear. His company was also producing it. Now we find out someone's getting radioactive materials delivered. If Wrath isn't outright behind it, at least the radiation should provide enough leverage to get the information we need."

"Let's just tread lightly, sir."

She certainly didn't need to say that again. Too many sensitive issues were at play here, and as the commissioner, he needed to be wary of all of them, or risk losing his job. Knowing this, and steeling himself against it, Mustang finished leading the two outside to his car, ready to begin the two-hour drive to East City. Neither of his companions said a single word, and that was arguably for the best. He didn't want to answer questions or think about anything beyond the scope of driving. There was already plenty of stuff to think about, regardless, and he didn't want to spend any more time on it.

Two hours flew by inordinately fast as they found themselves in the rainy backdrop that was East City. He really shouldn't have been surprised after having lived there so long once upon a time: East City _loved_ to rain. Still, he wasn't as familiar with Mugear and Company as he would have liked to have been in this situation, so he followed Al's directions to the large building in the center of a business park. Even through the veil of rain and the cover of his umbrella, Roy was still able to easily locate Havoc's car, though the man himself was nowhere inside. Sloshing through the puddles, the trio arrived inside the building to the sight of the sopping wet Havoc and Breda. Brosh looked rather dry, which made sense, considering the umbrella by his side. Ironically, the sky appeared to be lightening up.

"I thought I told you not to do anything until I got here," he said with slight amusement.

"Not our fault, chief," Havoc assured him. Breda nodded his head, like he was agreeing with him, but it was Brosh that answered.

"The security guards caught us in our cars," he said, a slight tic of annoyance on his face. "We tried to explain that we were police, showed them our badges and everything, but they dragged us in to write us up for loitering."

"Stubborn bastards…" Havoc reiterated.

"It's like the badge doesn't count for anything these days," Breda sighed out. "That said, we demanded to speak to Mugear before they wrote us up. I'm surprised that it seems they're actually obliging us that far."

"Lucky us…" Mustang breathed sardonically. It was a sad world if security guards thought they could write police up for loitering. On the other hand, it got them into the building and set up a potential meeting with Mugear, so it wasn't a total waste. In fact, the pudgy man seemed to be ambling over as he thought. Al stepped forward, as if to intercept him.

"Alphonse! I thought I'd given you time off!" Mugear exclaimed jubilantly, clapping Al on the back once he'd approached. Al chuckled nervously.

"You did, but I'm not here for work today," the Elric brother told his boss. Mugear appeared to have a rather knowing look on his face.

"Ah, yes. My chief of security did mention something about the police," he said, turning away to face the gaggle of detectives. "Commissioner Mustang, I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting. I take it you're here about that nasty Red Water business?"  
Mustang reached forward to take Mugear's hand and shake it confidently. "Among other things. Is there a place the whole group of us could discuss this privately?"

"Certainly," the business man said positively. "Although, I admit to feeling a little uneasy discussing all of this with such a large group of detectives. Makes it feel like an interrogation."

"It's not, sir," Mustang assured the man. Mugear seemed to exhale in relief. "If you'll lead on, please."

"Of course. Right this way." The man looked to suck in his belly a bit as he walked over to an elevator that didn't appear to be in use. Mugear seemed to use some kind of key card to activate the elevator, indicating that it was some kind of presidential elevator. When it arrived, Mustang was surprised to find that it was capable of comfortably fitting the whole group of them. All too soon, they were hearing the whirring of the belts and cables pulling them upward. "I'm surprised your brother isn't with you, Alphonse."

"Oh, well…" Al said quietly. The blond's eyes looked over at Roy, who was trying to tell him, without words, to tread lightly. "Brother's just dealing with some family matters."

"With your father's death, I'm sure he is," Mugear said somberly. He clearly hadn't detected anything suspicious in Al's answer. That was a good thing. Finally, the elevator dinged and the uneasy group of detectives made their exit into a carpeted hallway. Mugear resumed his leading of the procession to a pair of wooden double doors on the left side of the hallway. He swiped his keycard yet again, allowing him to push the doors open.

Mustang was not surprised in the least at the room they were entering. Hawkeye and Al were slightly ahead of him, walking towards the long mahogany table in the middle of the meeting room. Chairs surrounded it, but no one took a single seat, given this wasn't some chance for a cozy catch-up. Mugear traveled the farthest, to the blinds at the edge of the room, so that he could open them and let natural light in through the giant window. Havoc and Breda had stopped closest to him as the wealthy man took a seat near the head of the table. Mustang made sure to keep eye contact with him the entire time.

"So, what's this about, commissioner?" Mugear asked, stroking his mustache a little.

"Red Water, for starters," Roy said. He wasn't willing to tip his hand so soon. Not with someone as shrewd as Mugear hanging on his every word. The corporation president shifted a little in his seat.

"Yes, well, as I told the Elric Brothers," Mugear began, "I did put forth a commission through our weaponization department of Research and Development to create Red Water from Red Tincture. I'll admit, I took part in a little subterfuge to have it done by obtaining the materials at the same time as AlChemistry Labs did. Now that I know it was involved with murders, I feel absolutely horrible about it."

"And this 'Red Water'," Breda began, flipping through a notebook, "it was presented to one Jonathan Drake and was not returned, correct?"

"Yes. We've attempted to contact him, of course, but as of yet have had no such luck."

"Because he's dead," Havoc informed the man bluntly. Mugear's eyes bugged out as he looked at Havoc and sat back in his chair, like his body had given out.

"Oh. Oh, dear…Then the Red Water is…"

"Still missing," Roy confirmed. He leaned forward slightly on the table, catching Mugear's attention. That was a good thing for the question he was about to ask. "Mr. Mugear, is it true that alongside Red Water, you've been placing orders for radioactive materials?"

"What are you implying, commissioner?" Mugear asked incredulously. He stood as he did so, his belly bouncing a little. "What need would there be to order radioactive material?"

"You've already admitted to essentially fraud by producing a product that wasn't approved," Hawkeye said to him. "It's hardly a stretch to believe you may be using other materials that you shouldn't."

"Look, I may be president of Mugear and Company, but I hardly handle all of the day to day activities," the man said. His tone was more offended and agitated now, but Roy was more interested in ascertaining the truth that about keeping Mugear happy.

"That's fair, Mr. Mugear," Mustang said, his tone indicating that he wasn't going to take any bullshit from the man. "I get it: you don't know everything that goes on in your house. However, regardless of whether you know it's happening, it may still be happening, and since the radioactive material was on the same report as the Red Water material, it may be safe to say they're connected, isn't it? Anything would be helpful at this point."

Mugear's forehead was creased as his face was drawn into a frown. "Well…most shipments are usually filtered through our R and D Department. It _is_ the biggest department we have."

"Then it's Dr. Gold, isn't it?" Al piped up. The commissioner spared a glance at the younger Elric brother, noting that he didn't look at all happy. Mugear sighed tiredly.

"Of course…" he said lamentably. "I should have expected that. I had him go around you brothers' backs, so it would be no surprise if he went behind mine."

"Who's Dr. Gold?" Mustang insisted. Mugear stood without answering, making his way over to a mounted phone on the wall.

"He's more or less the head of the R and D Department," Al answered instead. "More specifically, he's very involved in the weaponization of products. It would make sense for him to order radioactive materials off the books."

"Then I want a report of every single project he's been working on," the commissioner informed Mugear. He wasn't sure if the man had heard him, considering he was mumbling into the phone before jerkily hanging it up. "I can get a warrant, but it would take time and lives-"

"That won't be necessary, commissioner," Mugear grumbled out in response. "I'm having everything you need brought up as we speak, including Dr. Gold. I'd rather put this nasty business behind me than to drag it out with petty lawsuits."

Roy had to admit that he was surprised; he truly expected Mugear to fight him tooth and nail on the issue, but instead he was freely offering the information. All they had to do now was wait. Alphonse, to his immense astonishment, appeared the most agitated out of all of them, tapping his fingers on the desk without a rhythm. In fact, to the commissioner's observations, everyone there seemed to be agitated by one thing or another. Breda was staring restlessly out the window while Brosh had surreptitiously grabbed a bagel from the stack near a coffee machine. Hawkeye was the only one looking stoic, an expression that did not change, even as the doors opened to a woman, who appeared to be a secretary, carrying a stack of papers, and an older balding man behind her.

The first thing Roy noticed about the man was his eerie grin, complete with an ironic gold tooth and all, as well as his equally eerie cross-eyed expression. The woman placed the stacks of paper on the long table and the three detectives in the room quickly took a packet each and began to flip through them. In the meantime, Dr. Gold (as Roy presumed he was) looked straight at Mugear.

"I was told you wished to see me, Mr. Mugear," he said with an almost childish exuberance.

"Yes," Mugear answered solemnly. "The police have some questions for you that I can't answer."

"Well, that's rather exciting! What do you boys need to know about?" No one said anything, finding it all just a little bit odd that Dr. Gold was approaching this all rather flippantly. Roy looked over at Al, and from the younger brother's expression, he was able to discern that this was clearly just how the doctor acted with everything. Hawkeye must have decided that, as well.

"You're the one who developed Red Water, correct?" she asked. Not letting the grin leave his face, Gold nodded. "Does that mean that you're also the only one who ordered radioactive materials alongside the Red Water materials, then?"

"Before you think of lying, if you were," Mustang said firmly, "we know you're _very_ capable of subterfuge, considering you misappropriated the Red Tincture vial from the Elrics." If Dr. Gold was surprised by this statement, he certainly wasn't showing it. The grin that leered was omnipresent and his cross-eyed expression just made it all the creepier. For a moment, he didn't say a thing, choosing to sit down and cross one leg over the other, instead. Once he had, he breathed in deeply.

"I like to experiment," he began to explain. "Some might think of me as some brand of mad scientist, but I've always looked at myself as a progressivist. I'm girding the people against damages that could come to society."

"Please, just answer the question."

"I may have," Dr. Gold finally answered with a shrug. "I constantly have so many projects that it's hard to remember what materials I've ordered for what particular project. If I had, of course, it would have been devising something for the welfare and benefit of the people. I might have been working on some kind of X-Ray machine…couldn't be sure."

"Gold…" Mugear sighed out, scratching his brow a little. "If you've been involved in some shady business, it's best to tell them. I'll not have the company suffer for your indiscretion."

"Oh, I don't need to tell them anything," Dr. Gold said gleefully. Mustang wanted to scowl, feeling his frustration boil just a little; he had a fear this little interrogation would lead to one of them asking for a lawyer to be present. "That strapping young blond detective should be able to see everything I've been working on."

"Sir, I've found proof of monetary transactions for radioactive materials," Brosh exclaimed. "Apparently, all of it went to Dr. Gold's department, allocated to various projects, though the statements don't provide much detail outside of unreadable shorthand."

"Can I take a look?" Al asked from where he was sitting. "I may be able to decipher." Brosh responded by sliding the report over to the younger Elric. Mustang kept his own eyes firmly rooted on Dr. Gold. He had to give the doctor some points; his expression was largely unchanged; as impassive as one would expect from a rock. It was impossible to get any sort of read on him, and the commissioner didn't like that one bit.

Suddenly, a loud _thud_ was heard, drawing Roy's attention from the expressionless doctor, at last. Looking over at the other side of the room, he caught sight of Havoc bending down and grabbing the sheaf of reports he was going through. His eyes were wide, and his body seemed to be visibly shaking as he turned back to the page he had previously been on. The action was very unusual for the veteran detective, but he wasn't saying anything. That worried Mustang. It also happened to get on his nerves.

"What's wrong, Havoc?" he asked. Everyone else's attentions were drawn to Havoc, as well, by the question.

"Boss, it wasn't for any X-Ray machine," he finally answered tremulously. "I think…I think Dr. Gold has a few deadly side projects he was working on. Like this one that had radioactive material and other elements that would clearly lead to some kind of mass destruction. And I'm no expert on shorthand, but I'm pretty sure the marking he has on this particular project is referring to the Ph-"

The sound of glass cracking was heard, but everything moved so fast that Roy had no time to react. Riza reacted for him, diving across the table and pushing him under it, all the while whipping out her guns. It was impressive…in a scary way. However, no other sounds other than panic could be heard. Well, there was that and a chuckle that was doubtless coming from Gold. Sure that the threat was over, Mustang stood.

"Is everyone…" He couldn't finish his sentence. He didn't finish it, because he knew the answer as soon as he made a scan of the room. Havoc was lying on the ground, twitching, blood oozing and flowing from his abdomen onto the pages of the report. "Havoc!"

The blond detective couldn't say anything, but Breda was at his side as quickly as possible. The burly man had ripped his jacket off and was pressing it to the wound in order to stop the bleeding. Roy was there seconds after. "Boss, it doesn't look good. I can't stop it for very long before he bleeds out."

"Call the paramedics!" Roy yelled to Mugear, who was staring at the scene in utter shock. The commissioner walked over and shook him roughly. "Now!"

"Y-yeah…sure…" he garbled out, his pudgy body finally on the move to the wall phone. Havoc was groaning as Breda tried to hold him down. Meanwhile, Mustang's fists were clenching. He had found something, and now he was lying on the floor bleeding, the reports a useless mess. He had a pretty good idea of who in the room he could blame, too.

"Brosh, take Dr. Gold into custody. We'll interrogate him further at the station," he ordered swiftly. The sandy blond nodded, working his way over to the laughing mad doctor to roughly yank him out of the chair. The life of a fellow cop was now on the line; it was hardly time for the niceties to be observed. That done, Roy turned to Hawkeye, who was staring at the window, no doubt to analyze trajectory. "Do you have anything?"

"Old business building, looks abandoned, seventh floor," she said in a clipped tone. Mustang followed her directions and located the building she was speaking of.

"Breda, stay here and watch over Havoc. Brosh, we'll meet you in order to grab the good doctor once we've checked this out, so wait for us outside the company." Brosh issued an affirmative, allowing both Mustang and Hawkeye to dash from the room, dragging Mugear, who had been shaking after his call, with them. Al was still smartly hiding under the table. Within seconds, they were at the elevator and had swiped Mugear's card to get them down to the first floor. Thanks to said pass, it didn't take them long at all, and they were passing paramedics on their way out.

Hawkeye took the lead, her guns still out and held low, as she sprinted across the street, Roy was right behind her, keeping his thoughts and gaze solely on their objective. Thankfully, it was no longer raining, but the commissioner still had to be very wary of the slick ground underneath his feet. That mattered little once they'd reached the office building. Hawkeye had only been wrong on a single point: the building wasn't abandoned. There were plenty of office workers on the lower floors. None of that mattered to the two of them and they rushed for the stairwell, beginning to climb two to three steps at a time until they reached the much quieter seventh floor. Roy finally held his gun higher, scanning the hall. Finally, Riza stopped him and pointed to a very evident imprint of dust on the ground near a door.

Mustang nodded and took his position on the other side of the door. Hawkeye backed up and then, with extreme force, kicked the door straight open, going high as he went low. It was almost completely unnecessary. The room was practically empty save for two open windows, a sniper rival, and a chair. Even knowing this, he didn't stow his weapon away. Looking around, he quickly figured out that whoever their sniper was had escaped through the window, which really left only one option: Wrath.

"Sir…you'll want to see this," Hawkeye called out from the location of the chair. Mustang very quickly walked over and his own eyes widened. Sitting before him, bound and gagged to the chair, was their old adversary Lust. She looked like she was unconscious, but none of that meant a thing when the sound of a phone ringing echoed throughout the room. Both of them looked around until Roy saw the flashing lights emanating from the breast pocket of Lust's coat. Against his better judgment, he took the phone out and answered it. All he heard was Father saying one thing:

"My move."

* * *

 **Author's Note: There was quite a bit going on with this chapter here. Havoc got shot, Wrath made another move, Lust is here (for the time being) and Gold is…well, his role was obvious. As for how this all plays out, my lips are sealed, and that's all I'll give you. With nothing much left to say, please Review and Dare to Be Silly.**


	10. Chapter 10

**That moment you're actually rewatching Brotherhood for the first time in a year. Hopefully it affects this story for the better. Do enjoy Chapter 10!**

* * *

Chapter 10

"Hey! Wake up!" Mustang's voice was harsh and biting as he brought his hand against Lust's face. Just seeing her again was enough to incense him. Even though he'd known about her release from prison, it made him no happier to actually see the seductress. Finally, a couple of slaps later and he was eliciting a groan from her. "About damn time."

"Well, well…if it isn't my old friend, Detective Mustang," she said huskily. Obviously, she'd never dropped her old routine during her incarceration. "Fancy seeing you here…wherever here happens to be."

"An office unit, across from Mugear and Company," Hawkeye answered stiffly as she checked out the sniper rifle hanging out the window. It was almost amusing to hear her speak like that. Almost.

"Why are you here?" Mustang demanded. Lust shook her head, as if clearing out the cobwebs.

"Not sure," she answered. At this point, she tried to move her hands but found that she was still tied to the chair. "Mind untying me, detective?"

For the second time, Roy ignored her usage of his old title and decided instead to prod at the truth. "Not yet. I'm not playing games with you, Lust. Not while Havoc's life is in danger. Now, tell me, why are you here?"

"Jean's hurt?" Lust questioned with a quirking eyebrow. Neither of the two cops in the room gave any sort of real answer, forcing Lust to sigh and relent. "I honestly don't know why I'm here. I got out of jail and went to meet up with Gluttony, poor boy is completely hopeless without me. Then I got a phone call or…something…my memory's a little fuzzy on that part. Anyway, someone wanted to meet for a job offer. I needed the work, so I figured why not? Didn't expect this, though…"

"They probably planned on using her as the fall guy. Set it up to assassinate Mugear, or something, and then have Lust take the blame," Hawkeye explained, surveying the bound woman. "Too bad she probably wouldn't be able to say the first thing about a sniper rifle."

"Looks like your new boss is-"

"-an asshole," Lust commented, dropping the sultry façade for a moment. Roy quirked an eyebrow in slight amusement, but within seconds, the seductive smile was right back on. "Couldn't tell you the first thing about him, though. I just met with an assistant or receptionist. I don't know what he was, but he had long black hair and was fairly lean."

"Wrath," Hawkeye observed. She appeared to be looking through the escape route that the sniper had taken, but shook her head when she pulled back in, indicating that there was nothing to be found there.

"Wrath, is it? That's interesting," Lust said, licking her lips with a smile. "And here I thought you all took care of Homunculus Corp, but it looks like, true to our name, we keep on coming back from the dead."

"Then we'll just keep killing you until you stay dead," Mustang said coldly. Lust blinked a little before her body sagged slightly in defeat. "Continue with your story. Now."

"Fine. I went in for the interview, was asked a few questions about my experience," she continued on sullenly. "And when I say experience, I mean that they wanted to know about my experience with Homunculus Corp itself. I tried to decline whatever their offer was. I just got out of prison; wasn't really interested in going back in for that."

"Obviously, they didn't take no for an answer, correct?"

"Seems that way. I think I got hit by chloroform, and next thing I know, you're slapping me awake."

"Well, her testimony just became the most useless of all time," Hawkeye remarked dryly. Roy wanted to laugh, but chose to not comment. Lust, for her part, leveled a glare at the other woman.

"And here I thought I was the one into S and M, bondage type stuff, but you people are on a whole other level," Lust said with exasperation. "Are you people going to untie me or what?"  
"Sure," Mustang said. Immediately after, he began to tug the ropes undone until the woman was freed. She didn't even have the chance to stand before Mustang hauled her to her feet. "But I hope you're a fan of handcuffs."

"Kinky. Do I need to have a particular safe word?" she chuckled out teasingly. At this, Hawkeye was the one to grab hold of her.

"How does 'arrest me' sound?" she asked bitterly. It was almost the exact same sentiments that he, himself, shared. Lust was just a reminder to that era under Bradley. Really, she just reminded him of all those deaths that he had been unable to prevent.

"You do realize I'm innocent in all of this, right?"

"That remains to be seen. Let's go." At this, Hawkeye began to roughly shove Lust along, jockeying her towards the exit. Mustang followed right after them, sparing another glance around the room. Wrath was far too savvy for his liking, and with Havoc injured, his blood was boiling. If Wrath thought that he and Father could get away with this…then he'd have to show him what true wrath looked like. Whipping his coat around, Roy swept from the room, closing the door quietly so he wouldn't attract attention. Then he continued to follow Hawkeye onto the stairwell.

"With how tight these cuffs are, I'd almost wonder who's kinkier: him or you?" Lust was saying in a rather obvious bid for either distraction or annoyance. "Quite honestly, I'm rather surprised you two are still together. Or are you not together?"

"Lust, I highly suggest keeping your mouth shut," Hawkeye spat warningly. "Unless you have something valuable to say. I'm in a very foul mood, and I have a badge and a gun."

"So, you're _not_ an item. That's rather interesting."

"Speaking of items, Lust," Roy said tauntingly, a smirk on his face, "are you and that fat slob Gluttony still a thing? And did he lose weight in prison?"

Lust glowered at him menacingly, but he hardly felt intimidated by it. "I haven't had the chance to see Gluttony since prison, thank you."

"Well, don't sound so upset." If she weren't cuffed, Roy was almost certain that the woman would try to assault him. Thankfully, Riza was more than prepared for this, yanking Lust away from doing any damage to the commissioner. Finally, she pushed Lust out into the building's lobby. As she did so, she threw Roy a rather scathing look, to which he smiled sheepishly. After that, they followed the stream of exiting civilians right out into the street.

The first thing he caught sight of were the flashing lights off the ambulances outside Mugear and Company. That gave him a breath of relief, knowing that the paramedics had gotten here so quickly. It would have been better if they had actually caught the sniper, but for the moment, Lust was a decent consolation prize. Although, she was talking again as they crossed the street, which grated on his ears.

"So, Jean really was shot…" she articulated. Her voice was mostly void of emotion as she said it, though. "That's a shame. I rather liked him, for a mark."

"Please stop talking before I put your gag back in," Hawkeye expressed in exasperation. Mustang chanced a look at their prisoner, noticing the small upturn of her lips. She was actually _enjoying_ this.

"I have to wonder what the reason was. Whenever we took someone out, there was always a reason, like when we sent Envy after you at the _Xenotime Mall_. I heard about it, remember," Lust chuckled out. Roy tried to ignore her, more focused on the gurney being wheeled out the company doors, Havoc most likely on it considering Breda was at its side. They were efficient, he'd give them that; Havoc was in good hands. "Unless this new 'employer' of mine is a complete sociopath who just doesn't care for reasons."

"Stop talking, or I pull out _my_ gun," Roy finally snapped. Lust's eyebrows raised, but she did stop talking. The whining of sirens met their ears and the commissioner watched as the ambulances took off with Havoc inside. They were finally approaching the front doors where Brosh was waiting with handcuffed Dr. Gold, and Al. The younger Elric's eyes seemed to widen at the sight of the raven-haired vixen, but Roy preempted him before he could say anything. "Where's Mugear?"

"I think he passed out. His secretary was fanning him when I left," Al explained with a slightly nervous chuckle. "Is she the one who shot Detective Havoc? Or was it just meant for Mr. Mugear?"

"I highly doubt that," Hawkeye voiced. "A sniper usually hits the target they want to hit. But, no, Lust is not our shooter. We're just taking her in for questioning."

"You are? Oh ho…" Dr. Gold suddenly started laughing out raucously. Mustang continued to observe him as his chuckles turned into full on guffaws. Something was off, and his hand went for the gun at his hip. Dr. Gold's laughter was heavily shaking his body and he was practically bent over from it. The man was certifiable.

"Hey, cut it out!" Brosh remonstrated him, yanking him back into an upright position. That was when Mustang saw it: the glint of the metal cigarette case. Al stepped back, and it wasn't hard to guess why. Dr. Gold didn't smell like smoke. So, why would he have a cigarette case?

"Brosh," Mustang warned the sandy-haired detective, who couldn't have seen the object Dr. Gold was clasping to his chest from his position. It was a little too late, because Dr. Gold flicked the top open, revealing a rather obvious red button. "Get back now!"

Mustang drew his weapon, aiming right at the maniacal doctor. Hawkeye was no different, pushing Lust against a car in order to draw her own weapon. Al just ran away as far as he could. Brosh, likewise, backed up as he drew his weapon. Dr. Gold's cross-eyed expression flitted between all of them, his leering grin never once leaving his wrinkled face. The air became all too thick with tension. No one said anything, but Roy heard the sounds of citizens fleeing from the scene. Finally, Dr. Gold opened his grinning mouth. "I'll be honest, Commissioner Mustang, I didn't expect this particular snag."

"And what snag would that be?"

"Finding me out, of course!" the man said with a laugh. Roy's eyes flashed back at the sight of the doctor's fingers rubbing over the detonator; to the alleyway, and Archer. "Finding the woman was the obvious part, but I was supposed to be a safe distance. Oh, well, guess Father can't cover every contingency."

"Father?" Brosh inquired, a look of confusion on his face. Roy cocked his gun. He couldn't let this conversation go on for any longer.

"Gold, put the detonator down, and we all walk away from this. All you need to do is tell me where the bomb is, and we can work something out," the commissioner said with an air of cold command. His finger was still resting on the trigger, though. He continued to watch the doctor as he continued to grin.

There was a second…no, a millisecond, where every sound, including silence, entered into Roy's brain. The flexing of a muscle, the sound of gravel shifting. Every sense was heightened, his body tensing. The cool metal of his gun began to grow warm. The smell of rain lingered in the air and Roy could uncomfortably taste his own saliva. He knew. He knew what had to be done, even before Gold's next words.

"I am the bomb."

"Dr. Gold, why would you-" Al began to ask when the manic doctor cut him off.

"For the science, of course! How many people could claim to have developed the things I did under his direction. I wonder if you'll find them all before it's too late!" He set off laughing again, causing Roy to swallow as his hands tightened. "Father sends his regards, Roy Mustang."

Another millisecond.

The button was pressed. Roy fired.

The bullet was fast, impacting with Gold's forehead, causing him to crumple to the ground with a rather loud thud. Yet there was no explosion. In fact, Gold's body falling seemed to carry with it a certain mundane finality to the whole faceoff. For a moment, he began to relax.

 _Beep!_

Mustang's jaw froze up and he turned his head, turning to face Lust, who was finally pulling herself off of the car with some effort. Her rather concealing dress was ripped now, exposing some cleavage and the vest resting underneath. Why hadn't he seen it before? The wardrobe change from sultry vixen to prude schoolmarm should have been the tipoff. Dr. Gold had just been a triggerman; a part of the bomb, but not the bomb itself. All his words now made sense, though it offered the commissioner no solace at all. He could only look at Lust, his eyes trailing from her bomb-strapped breasts to her face. She smirked at him confidently.

"Well, this is certainly a shame, isn't it?" she chuckled out. "I enjoyed our brief moment together, Detective Mustang. I have no regrets, either; being with a man like you before I die is almost like a prize all its own."

Roy would have shaken his head and muttered something about "foolish, stubborn pride", but he very clearly heard the second beep, and he knew what was coming. The commissioner turned his gun around pointing it at Lust to make sure she couldn't advance as the group of them backed away. Lust continued to smirk. At the very least, it seemed like she was dying with her dignity intact.

"Go," he said clearly once they had achieved some distance. Dropping his gun to his side, Mustang began to sprint with the others through the parking lot. Even amidst every other sound coming through, he could hear the third beep. Then he felt his feet pass over the fourth row of cars. "Duck for cover!"

It wasn't like anyone else was in the position to refute his orders. All four of them dove forward, rolling behind some cars as the explosion went off. Mustang hurriedly shoved his fingers in his ears, muting the sound of whatever carnage was going on behind him. he could even feel the heat from that distance, breathing heavily to stabilize himself until the rumbling ceased. Not that the screaming stopped. That had just started, actually.

"Hawkeye, call in Bomb Squad and some officers to cordon off the area," he ordered, moving his jaw to get it to unlock. "Alphonse, how skilled are you with bombs?"

"Not at all past the basic theory of chemical makeup," Al answered, still shaking from the shock of the situation.

"Good enough. Come with me."

"What about myself, sir?" Brosh was asking, wobbling on his feet as he stood.

"Keep any citizens away that you can until the other officers get here," he ordered the detective. Mustang finished standing before he helped Al up and the two made their way over to the pile of practical goop that had once been Lust. Even Dr. Gold's body was absolutely charred. Al made sure to cover his mouth with his shirt as he walked forward, no doubt averse to the rancid smell. Even Mustang wasn't quite so used to it, despite all his years in the profession.

"This is so gross…" Al commented, kneeling down to observe the parts scattered about the area. Roy couldn't see his face, but figured that it was one of disgust. Regardless of that, Al began to collect as many parts that were there as possible, groaning the whole while. Mustang just observed the area, eyes briefly sliding over the charred husk of Dr. Gold's body. People were panicking, but Hawkeye and Brosh seemed to be doing an acceptable job of pushing people away. Sirens filled the air and Roy sniffed at it.

It smelled slightly familiar, almost like an old memory that was coming to the surface. Police cars had pulled up now, and with utter efficiency, they were erecting barriers to keep people away from the crime scene. With them was another ambulance, the paramedics pointlessly rushing to Gold's side. The man was deader than dead, but they clearly decided to examine him anyway. With the barricade set up, Brosh and Hawkeye were on their way back, the latter pulling her phone out. A clatter and clang behind him reminded Mustang of Al's presence. He turned to look at him and saw the young man with a pile of parts in front of him, and his nose uncovered. Some of the smell appeared to be dissipating.

"Have you found anything?" he asked.

"It's weird," Al commented. "It's almost like this thing was thrown together to do multiple things at the same time. There's the anesthetic, I can tell from the color, combined with a nuclear powered system to keep it stable. It's kind of like wanting to create an anesthetic bomb or something."

"How come we're all right, then?" the commissioner asked him. Al held up a small, melted, circular device.

"The radiation, just small amounts that are un-harmful, appeared to cancel out the effects of the Red Water. A failed experiment, I guess," Al shrugged out before dropping the device with a grimace. "You want to know the weirdest part?"

"What?" If it had been Ed, he probably would have made some sort of scathing remark, but as it was Al, he felt a certain measure of patience inside him.

"It shouldn't have failed at all," the younger Elric explained. "I'm no expert on this stuff, not like Fletcher, but the problem is that the stabilization compound leaked out, which led to it affecting the anesthetic and the whole bomb _before_ it exploded."

"So, it was a flawed design? We should be grateful for that. This could have been a lot more disastrous, like…" Roy trailed off, a rather disturbing idea pervading his thoughts. He genuinely hoped the comparison in his head was proven wrong.

"That's the thing: the actual design is near flawless," Al argued, standing as he did so. "It's the parts that caused it to fail. They were outdated and inadequate to do the job that Gold wanted them to do."

"How outdated?" Mustang responded, his stomach plummeting. Brosh was now near them, along with some members of the bomb squad that had arrived. His gaze would occasionally shift over to them out of interest.

"Um…again, no expert, but it looks like these parts were from about sixteen…years ago…"

Mustang closed his eyes and took a breath in. His suspicion had been just right. The bomb had been designed exactly like the ones that Bald had designed to blow the country to hell sixteen years ago. Yet another point in Father's psychological war. The man was one crafty bastard, Mustang had to admit. He was becoming an expert at evoking the past and dredging up those moments that would make each of them flinch. Drake's death by shooting, Lust, Kimblee, these bombs…Roy's face furrowed into a frown. Hohenheim's staged suicide…maybe it had been…

"Al, you're sure they're from sixteen years ago?"

"Fairly certain. You don't think…"

"I do. He's quite aware of that day," Mustang answered shortly. Al swallowed thickly as the commissioner shoved his hands in his pockets. Father's game was finally starting to make sense.

"Who knows what?" Brosh asked curiously. Both of them refused to answer. Saying anything could be highly disastrous, even if the suspicious look from Brosh was unsettling. Thankfully, Roy was spared the need to answer.

"Sir, you have a call from Feury. It's very important," Hawkeye said, finally stepping close and handing her phone over to him. Mustang took it and placed it next to his ear. He didn't even need to say anything in order for Feury to tell him what he wanted to hear.

"Ed called in." Shifting the phone closer to his head, his silence spoke to what he wanted to know. "Apparently, Kimblee is dead. Scar killed him."

"Damn it," Roy said under his breath. Nothing could go right lately, could it? "Did Fullmetal get anything out of him?"

"Not from Kimblee," Feury responded. "According to Ed, he was just a tool. He did learn something, though, and he asked me to pass the message on to you. Apparently the term 'Philosopher's Stone' revolves around an old army strategy of gathering things and using them against one's enemies."

"Hardly helpful," Mustang commented. Although, as he thought on it, he realized it was likely more helpful than he thought, otherwise Ed would have never called in. Feury seemed to agree with this idea, even if he hadn't said it.

"Actually, it was, sir," Feury corrected him. "Knowing all of that, I was able to troll old army forums, and I happened to stumble across one that was supposedly for the disenfranchised. Mostly rhetoric about the country going to hell in a handbasket, but there was a thread that talked about something familiar to us: Homunculus Corp."

"Oh?" Mustang questioned. This lead was turning out better than he thought. "And what were they saying about our old friends?"

"It looked like gibberish at first, up until the phrase 'take it all back, make it into one'," the explanation continued. "After that, I had the very distinct feeling that a lot of the message was in code. Took myself and Armstrong a little work, along with some help from Ed, but we deciphered it. From that point on, the messages all boiled down to one thing: 'Meet at Xenotime Mall. Gluttony to make a show'."

"Well, shit," Roy said. "Were there any times mentioned?" before Feury could answer any questions, Roy's mind flashed back to what Lust had said. Had she been trying to hint this to him? Did she know more than she let on? Was that why Gold had blown her up?

"None, sir, but the last post was just thirty minutes ago," he answered. "If they're doing something, I'd imagine that it'll be pretty soon."

"All right. Thanks, Feury. Anything else?"

"Ed is on his way back. He left Scar in Detective Miles' custody," Feury explained. "Also, social media is lighting up about whatever is going on with you guys in East City, but the details are still unclear. What _is_ going on?"

"Problems," was the response. "I'll let you know once we've taken care of Xenotime. Keep on the lookout for any other anomalies."

"You got it, sir." With those words, Feury finally ended the call. Mustang immediately turned back to Hawkeye and tossed her phone back.

"Alphonse," he called out once he'd done so, "I need you to join those paramedics. Go to the hospital and see what you can do for Havoc. Brosh, continue your investigation with the information we've been given."

"Of course, sir," Brosh said, almost sullenly. Mustang briefly gave him a glance, noticing a rather distressed, yet calculating, look on his face. That was no surprise; in fact, it was a good thing. It meant that Brosh was fully prepared to find the one who physically killed Hohenheim and put an end to this madness. That was good enough for him.

"Hawkeye, you and I are heading for Xenotime. We might have a situation there." Hawkeye nodded before pursing her lips and heading off to the car. Brosh, too, was walking off, almost like a man possessed.

"Commissioner, Ed called, right? He's okay?" Al asked.

"I'd presume so. He's on his way back to Central," Roy answered. Al appeared to exhale in relief. Roy would have told him more, but it seemed that he had accepted what he was given and was already moving towards the paramedics. This made the commissioner just shrug and begin his short journey to his car. Riza was in the driver's seat, and she took off as soon as he'd buckled into the passenger's seat. Thankfully, Xenotime wasn't all that far away.

"So, what's going on at Xenotime?" Hawkeye asked coolly as she drove. Her face was as stoic as ever, but after years of working with her, he could detect the small crease on her brow that indicated she was worried.

"Not entirely sure," he answered, his hand flitting to his side to check on his gun. "All I know is that Feury deciphered a message indicating that 'Gluttony was going to make a show' at Xenotime Mall."

Hawkeye's eyes narrowed at this particular piece of information, like she was contemplating something, but he couldn't be sure exactly what. "Gluttony…you don't think…"

"I have no idea what to think," he confessed. "First Kimblee, then Lust. It's very possible that the Gluttony we're dealing with may be the very same one from before. It could also mean he was forced into this against his will. It certainly seems as though Lust was."

"Right…" Hawkeye responded. It was the last thing she said for a while. She actually didn't speak until they'd entered Xenotime. "Should I call for backup?"

"No," was Mustang's firm answer. "We're heading for a public place. I don't want to start a panic if it's unnecessary. We'll have to confirm with our own eyes before we call for anything."

"Had a feeling you'd say that," she chuckled out. "Well, I think we should probably start at the food court, then."

"Clever, Hawkeye," Mustang smirked out. Hawkeye didn't quite smile, but there was an upturn of her lips. Of course, it made perfect sense, even if it was meant as a joke. Gluttony at a food court; the irony was simply too good to pass up.

Hawkeye very quickly pulled into the mall parking lot, skidding into a space and unbuckling her seatbelt all in one rather deft move. Mustang took slightly more time, but just as easily got out of the car. The very first thing he did was observe the parking lot. Nothing suspicious appeared to be going on in the area, but there were more than a few cars. It might not have been as packed as, say, the weekend, but it didn't mean that the lot was entirely empty or anything. Hawkeye appeared to notice the potential threat of collateral damage, judging from the sour look on her face, especially when a nearby baby in a stroller cried out.

He couldn't worry about that. Knowing this to be the case, he strode forward with his jacket whipping out behind him. Overhead, the infamous Eastern region clouds were moving back in, prepared to douse them all. Roy ignored that and led Riza to the closest mall entrance. Xenotime Mall was almost completely unchanged since the last time he'd been there, some sixteen years ago. To that point, he didn't need to check the map to know where the food court was. Striding along, the only things that were different were the storefronts, which made sense.

Either way, with every step towards the food court, Mustang was filled with apprehension and restlessness. Why Xenotime? It wasn't like it was an extremely populated area in the slightest. Compared to the East City Mall (complete with a Cineplex and everything), the place may as well have been a rural meeting hall. Especially during the weekdays. As a target for anything, it made absolutely no sense. More than that, though, Roy had to wonder why they hadn't caught this earlier. Why hadn't anyone? Especially the intelligence community that specialized in this kind of stuff.

None of it mattered, really, as the duo arrived at the bustling food court, their footsteps lost in the swarm of voices that filled the area. Even the food court still looked the same. The arrangement of tables and restaurants (surprisingly) unchanged. People still chattered cheerfully as they gathered their food, or they people watched as they ate. Only one person wasn't eating…or maybe they were, only they were concealed by a large newspaper. Roy was reminded of a past event for a moment, and then he took off like a shot. Riza didn't question him, but continued to cover his six, her eyes instinctively darting everywhere. The swarm of people felt thick as he rushed through them, almost like there were too many. That didn't deter him and he reached the spot quickly to jam the paper down.

"Mmm!" came a squeaky voice from the man behind the newspaper.

"Gluttony…" he commented. Before him was most certainly the man that had once pretended to be Detective Vorac. He looked a little thinner now, but no more bright. His body was dressed in the same style of suit he'd worn back then, too, judging from the collar. Only, now it was all covered in a brown trench coat. More importantly was the gag in his mouth that the commissioner sought to remove.

"Don't touch…" he squeaked out horrifically, his beady little eyes darting every which way. "Too scared."

"All right, why don't you tell me what's going on?" he asked. He noticed the pudgy man shaking with what appeared to be absolute fear.

"Lust. They have my Lust," he whimpered out. "Said they'd kill her if I moved."

"Lust is dead," he informed the man. If anything, this made him shake even more, tears pooling in his eyes.

"Lust…dead…? Who? Who killed her?" he asked tremulously. Roy shook his head. "Then…I'm next. He told me not to move or we both die."

"Who told you?" Mustang insisted. Gluttony was so obviously frightened that when he shook his head, his entire trench coat moved with him. That was when the commissioner caught sight of it. There was a rather obvious bomb strapped to his chest, only this one appeared to have a timer. He turned back to Hawkeye, and she nodded, taking her phone out. "Gluttony, who told you this?"

"He…he said his name was Wrath."

Mustang's head shot up and he immediately began surveying the food court. Wrath was here. He had to be. Why else would he tell Gluttony that if he moved, he'd be dead? He was watching the whole spectacle. The sudden beep from the vest and the countdown beginning from ten minutes proved that further. Mustang felt his breathing accelerating and he noticed Gluttony go rigid, like he was paralyzed. Narrowing his eyes, the commissioner bent over and removed the trench coat to look at the vest. It looked just like Lust's, only this one had a small box. Gingerly touching it, Roy pulled it back and noticed a needle sticking out of it. Red Water.

"How close is bomb squad?"

"Five minutes out." There were nine minutes left.

"Tell them to make it less," he said hurriedly. A sudden scream rang out and Roy saw a woman pointing at Gluttony and yelling.

"He has a bomb!" she screeched. That was just what he needed: a panic. More screams followed along with frantic running. Mustang's jaw tightened, but as he watched the panicked crowds, he caught sight of a man with a fedora by a trash can…and he was dropping something in. Roy straightened and began to walk right for him as he tipped his hat, briefly revealing the face that was Wrath's.

"Wrath!" he roared and he began to pick up his pace. Wrath just grinned and turned, pelting down the length of the food court. Roy's feet stamped along the ground giving pursuit, and he snapped his gun out as quick as he could. More screams followed that, and the crowds became even thicker to navigate. "Move! Police!"

Some listened, jumping to the side, but others were too busy screaming their heads off at the sight of a gun. The commissioner chanced a look at his watch. Less than five minutes. He turned a corner and continued to chase after Wrath, beginning to gain some ground on the more athletic man. Then he realized just where Wrath was heading for: the movie theatre. It was small, but he would no doubt use the darkness as a cover. Pumping his legs even further, Roy gripped his gun as Wrath provided the pathway through the mess of people. Sure enough, he soon after shot right into the movie theatre lobby. Mustang pursued and finally leapt over the ticket barrier to hold his gun on Wrath when he was pinned between himself at the concession stand.

"Stop. This ends now," Mustang growled, and he found himself aiming his gun right at Wrath's chest. Wrath looked to be breathing heavily as he turned back against the counter, his eyes flicking upward for a moment.

"Go ahead, commissioner. But I'm unarmed," he answered confidently. Mustang gripped his gun tighter. For a moment, he didn't care. He didn't care about the fact that Wrath could lead them to the Elrics. He wanted him dead.

And that was when it all clicked. Xenotime. Lust. Gluttony. Sixteen years ago. Drake in the phone booth. Hohenheim's staged suicide. It was a parallel. Hohenheim evoked Charlene McDougal. Drake evoked Hughes. Now there was this…and Envy. Wrath wanted him to shoot him, just like he'd shot Envy all those years ago. Doing so would play into Father's hands; shooting an unarmed man. But if he took him into custody, there was no doubt it would end up like last time, and the department would lose even more face. This had all been too elaborately planned.

So, he took the third option. He lowered his gun a fraction, and then the popcorn machine behind Wrath suddenly exploded. He looked away as the buttery-scented smoke wafted over him, and when he looked up, Wrath had disappeared. The sound of footsteps sounded behind him and he turned to notice Riza.

"He got away," he answered her. "The bomb?"

"Defused. But Gluttony is dead," she told him. That, at the very least, was a relief. Nodding, he holstered his weapon and turned to leave the theatre. "Uniforms are securing the scene, and Breda called."

"We're heading there, now. East can handle all this mess." He'd said it more callously than, perhaps, he meant to, given Hawkeye's alarmed expression. Roy hardly cared though. He'd just let their best lead slip through his fingers because he wanted to beat Father at his game. It was sickening, but it was the only play that he had.

It didn't stop his mind from going into overdrive on the ride back to East City and the major hospital that was there. Somehow, he had to find a way to get out of the clutches of Father's plan. Right now, he was only reacting to moves already made. There had to be a way to make Father react instead. Some ideas formed in his head, but he needed far more information to pull them off. Either way, it didn't take long to arrive at the hospital where both Breda and Al were waiting.

"Still in surgery," Breda responded. "Alphonse administered the same thing used on Hawkeye…but we're still waiting for Dr. Knox to let us know."

"So, Knox's son is operating on him? That's a relief," Mustang expressed, and he collapsed into a nearby chair. Hawkeye and Al both took a seat next to him, looking more than worried. Breda just paced back and forth. None of them had any idea how long they had waited before the doors to surgery opened up and the clean-cut and shaven son of their old coroner walked in. Each stood, awaiting the news.

"He's alive," Knox answered, earning a breath of relief, "but he's not stable yet. The next twenty-four hours will tell us more. He may need more surgery. If he does survive, though, I doubt he'll be able to serve again. Part of his spine is fractured."

"Can't you do anything to fix it, doc?" Breda asked. Roy could only run a hand through his hair in distress. Knox frowned.

"I'm not sure," was the answer. "We might be able to, but he'd still have to undergo hellish physical therapy, and he still won't be the same. We'll have to-" Roy's phone suddenly rang out loudly and he offered them all a rather sheepish smile.

"Sorry," he apologized. He pulled his phone out and walked away from the conversing group before answering it. "What's going on, Feury?"

"You guys need to get back here, sir," Feury whispered harshly. The commissioner found it odd that he would do so, but at the next words the bespectacled detective spoke, he understood why. "The director of the Intelligence Agency just arrived, and she's here to do a senate-mandated review of the department."

Mustang gave it a beat and then answered with, "We'll be right there."

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 **Author's Note: There isn't much to say about this chapter, as it mostly just continued on from the last one. Plot's moving along, some set-up, and Mustang is struggling with how to best handle a tricky situation. Regardless, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and I'd love to see you all Review and Dare to Be Silly.**


	11. Chapter 11

**This has now become one of my last remaining projects to complete, but we still have a while to go yet. (Not that I'm not embarking on other projects). Well, whatever, enjoy chapter 11!**

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Chapter 11

Arriving back in the Central City station late in the day, Ed never thought he'd see it so busy, yet here it was, bustling with almost as much activity as it had been when Wrath escaped. The blond frowned a little and checked his phone. He hadn't realized just how long he'd spent shivering up north. Wondering whether Feury was anywhere nearby, he strode further into the station. Looking down the hall to Mustang's office, Ed caught sight of Armstrong's hulking form speaking to a woman with short-cut brown hair. The woman's lips were pursed in an unhappy expression, but Ed ignored that in his search for Feury. He happened to find him inside Hawkeye's office.

"What's going on? Where's Commissioner Firepants?" Ed asked, causing Feury to look up at him.

"Too much," the bespectacled man answered. "Thanks for your decoding help."

"No problem," Ed replied, though he was slightly disgruntled that his question wasn't answered. Feury shifted some papers around before sighing loudly.

"There was a social media disaster in East City," Feury responded. Ed raised an eyebrow; he never was much for all that social media stuff. "The commissioner didn't say much, but supposedly Havoc got shot."

"Is he all right?"

"No idea," Feury shot back and he leaned against the desk. "All I know is that all this stuff got the attention of the senate. Mustang's been arguing with a committee of theirs for a while, so this whole thing just made the situation worse. They ended up calling the head of the Intelligence Agency to perform a review of the department."

"They can do that?" Ed asked in surprise. "That seems a little…illegal…and fast." The words didn't need to be said for both of them to understand that Father had evidently planned all of this well in advance.

"Anyway, Armstrong's talking with her while some of her agents are turning the station inside out."

"That explains how busy this place is…" Ed commented, leaning back against the desk. "Do you know if Al is all right?"

"I'm sure Mustang would have said something if he wasn't," Feury reassured him. They sat in silence, the sounds of a frantic station filtering in through the glass windows. Ed took a look through them while Feury decided to clean his glasses. The woman in charge must have brought a veritable army. There were a number of officers being questioned (not very happily, at that) while others were looking through desks. It was no surprise that a number of them were finding things like porn magazines, undercover disguises, or the occasional odd object that almost grossed Ed out. The whole thing was like Internal Affairs on steroids. Good thing Jonathan was still on his honeymoon.

"Mustang still in East City, then?" Ed asked when Feury had finished his cleaning.

"Probably not," was the answer. "He said that he and the team were on their way back. Should be here pretty-"

The doors to Chief Hawkeye's office burst open, drawing both of the men's attentions. The woman that Ed had seen earlier in the hall with Armstrong, and now had a good idea as to her identity, was standing in the middle of the open doors. Armstrong was thundering along behind her, looking quite concerned. Seeing her more up-close and in proper lighting, Ed could see how finely dressed she was: a power suit that essentially screamed authority. Ed had never been a fan of that. Didn't stop the woman from approaching Feury with a hideous scowl.

"Where is Commissioner Mustang?" the woman asked in a tired, and somewhat annoyed, voice. Ed had to stop himself from scoffing when Armstrong charged through the doors.

"I already told you, ma'am-"

"I don't have time for anything except straight answers," she snapped. "Can you give them to me?"

"Commissioner Mustang is on his way. He and some others had some business to take care of. I'm sure he'll be here soon, ma'am," Feury answered tremulously. The woman hardly looked happy with the response she was given and this time Ed couldn't stop himself from scoffing. That earned her attention and recognition.

"Edward Elric, I presume?" she noted, stepping in front of him and offering a hand. Ed wrinkled his nose a little but accepted it all the same; she reeked of incense. "I recognize you from the news some years back. Lyra, director of the Intelligence Agency."

"Pleasure," Ed answered, though her smell was so overpowering that he hardly meant it. "No offense, but did you take a bath in perfume or something?"

"I'd imagine it seems that way," she chuckled out as they withdrew their hands. "No, I simply don't have the opportunity to shower as often as I'd like to when there's a lot going on. My apologies if it offends you."

"Whatever," Ed brushed it off. Overbearing perfume was the least of his worries; Lyra wasn't the only one that wanted Mustang to get here as quickly as possible. "Your guys are really tearing things up out there. Didn't know a review meant tearing up the floorboards."

"Yes, well, the senate committee's orders were, verbatim, 'no desk or stone unturned'," she told him wryly. Ed continued to frown and noticed his fellow police companions were doing the same. Lyra spun her head to look at her own subordinates doing their work. "Makes little sense to me, as well, but when things are stretched thin-"

"Which committee?"

"Excuse me?" Lyra remarked, turning back to the blond with a confused expression.

"Which committee ordered you to do this?" Ed asked. Lyra stared at him sharply for a moment.

"Not that it's any of your business, but the Intelligence Committee." No one exchanged a look in the room so as to not draw undue suspicion, and Lyra didn't seem to pick up on the ratcheted tension. Of _course_ , it would be the committee that Father was in charge of. They should have guessed at that. "Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity," was the answer. Ed looked off to the side and finally caught a glimpse of Mustang and his little entourage coming into the station. He smirked. "Looks like you got your wish, Lyra. Commissioner Charcoal is back in the building."

"About damn time," Lyra breathed out, and she swept from the room without delay. Following a brief shrug, the other three very quickly decided to pursue her. She was moving so fast that it took hardly any time at all for their group to intercept with the other group. The first thing that Ed managed to catch sight of was Al, who nodded his head a little, but was befitted with a grim expression. Ed would have asked more, but Lyra's apparent conflict with Mustang precluded that. "Where the hell have you been, Mustang?"

"Out," came the ever-stoic answer. "I didn't think that my whereabouts or actions should be of any concern to you, Lyra."

"Normally, they wouldn't be," Lyra confessed, her lips twisting unpleasantly. "Whatever happened in East City changed things. Bombs, men being poisoned, and the rumor of you pulling a gun in the middle of Xenotime Mall? !"

"Not a rumor," Roy confessed with a nonchalant shrug. Ed, himself, frowned a little at that. "I had a suspect to pursue, so I pursued, and nothing says 'Move' like a gun. If you have any more questions, could we take this to my office, please? I don't think the others need to see this."

"Fine," Lyra snapped, allowing Mustang to lead the rather large group down the hallway to his office. Al hung back a little and Ed found himself reuniting with his brother.

"What exactly _did_ happen out East?" he asked of Al.

"Lots of stuff…Dr. Gold is dead," was the simplest answer. Ed almost stopped in his tracks, but the flow of the detectives in their group prevented that.

"That crazy bastard? ! How? What happened?"

"I…I think…" Al leaned in at this moment to whisper. "We think he was working for Father, brother. He blew himself and Lust up."

Obviously not wanting to be overheard, Al drew back and acted like he hadn't said anything. Ed also kept his thoughts to himself. The news of Lust's release swam in his head and all of the horrible pieces were coming to fit together like a nasty jigsaw puzzle. Wrath, the vigilante. Sloth, the fake mother. Lust, now deceased. Gluttony was likely a part of all this, too, if unwillingly. Pride, obviously Kimblee, now dead. That left only Envy and Greed, since he doubted the gang boss would stoop so low as to work for Father. Either way, Ed recognized the all too disturbing fact upon joining the others in Mustang's office: the seven sins had essentially been reborn.

"Look, Mustang, I won't sugarcoat it," Lyra said as soon as the door snapped shut, "the senate's after your head."

"The senate? Or the Intelligence Committee?" Roy smirked out, taking a seat at his desk and crossing his legs. "Don't want me interfering with their precious STONE Bill, do they?"  
"Does it matter?"

"Why are you here, Lyra?" Mustang suddenly asked bitingly. No one flinched, but Ed could feel the tension in the room ratchet up. "Last I checked, you're supposed to deal with foreign affairs, not the local police. We have IA for that."

"They wanted someone who could gather information quickly and efficiently, I suppose," Lyra said. Ed certainly didn't trust the answer, but he wasn't able to say it out loud. He did notice Mustang looking subtly wary, as well. "At the very least, it's better than some other government-orchestrated committee that would drag things out for you indefinitely."

"I'm sure…" the commissioner drawled.

"Look, I volunteered," Lyra stated. "I know you well enough, Mustang, and can remain impartial enough. I've no desire to see your name dragged through the mud. Just tell me what exactly happened in East City."

Mustang stroked his chin a little, as if in contemplation, before he leaned back in his chair to answer. "We were following a lead on the vigilante."

"I thought you had Truth in custody?" Lyra asked in concern, though Ed couldn't tell for what.

"We did. He broke out of his handcuffs and took hostages," Mustang continued to explain. "We tracked some things down to Mugear and Company. When we went to investigate, one of my men was sniped. He's in critical condition now. Hawkeye and I tracked down the sniper's location, but it was a decoy. He had taken another woman hostage and strapped her with a bomb. We didn't know until Truth's collaborator, Dr. Gold, pulled the trigger. They're both dead."

"Were you lacking detective skills, then?" Lyra asked sharply. "To not notice…"

"I was more worried about Havoc," came the defense. Lyra blinked, evidently not expecting that, but she was silent and allowed him to go on. "Anyway, following the bomb threat, we received information of another potential threat at the Xenotime Mall."

"Where you proceeded to run through the mall with your gun out?"

"As I said, in pursuit of a suspect."

"Which suspect is this, might I ask? All your suspects appear to be dropping like flies."

"Truth," Mustang answered. Ed felt his heart both speed up and drop into his stomach. A sick feeling filled him up at the words, though he couldn't quite explain it; it was mere speculation driving him to this. "He had strapped another individual with a bomb. We were able to defuse it, but you know how people are: easy to panic. I pursued Truth to the movie theatre, but he was lost in the crush of the crowd."

"You failed to apprehend a dangerous fugitive?"

"I don't see you doing much better, Lyra," Mustang said. "Explain to me why you and your men feel the need to tear out my officers' desks without any written warrant or even, I'd assume, informing IA."

"Standard procedure."

Ed highly doubted that to be the case, but he was more concerned with an earlier part of the conversation. Wrath had gotten away. Their one single link to his family had inexplicably gotten away. Ed looked over to his brother, wondering why Al hadn't told him, when he saw his expression. Al hadn't known. Mustang was just keeping more and more secrets. There was also the other implication…the one that could only be made because he knew Mustang well.

"Looks like we're stuck then," Lyra spoke. "The senate wants you out of office."

"Take it up with IA, call a committee," Mustang said calmly. "You want me out of office, do it right; I'm not leaving my position, though. Not until the bastard that shot Havoc is caught. And don't think I won't look into _this_ little abuse of power."

"That's not up for dis-" Lyra's counterargument was cut off by the shrill ringing of the phone. Only she and Al jumped by the sound of it, which seemed a little odd, given her position, but was hardly a fact to truly worth noting. Mustang held up his finger to insist that she remain silent and he took to answering it. The rest of the room remained on standby for him to hold his conversation with…whomever was calling.

The commissioner appeared to nod before his fingers began tapping the desk. He certainly did not look happy, and Ed scrutinized him. The man's look of worry seemed to increase tenfold, but there was something in his expression that disturbed the blond. Eventually, after thirty seconds that had seemed to last an eternity, Roy placed the phone down and locked his fingers.

"Havoc is dead," came the simple announcement. Ed swallowed, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. "Dr. Knox has informed me that there were complications during a second surgery. He wasn't able to make it."

"What the hell? !" Breda suddenly yelled. "He was fine! He was fine when we left!"

"Don't look at me. I'm not a doctor," Mustang responded callously. It was almost all of the proof that Ed needed in order to prove his suspicions. His fist tightened with an audible clank, but he said nothing, letting his feeling of discontent bubble up inside him. Next to him, Al was shaking, likely with fear.

"But my anesthetic…my medicine…" he whispered out, as if in disbelief.

"It wasn't enough," came the solemn response. "The doctor said your medicine only bought Havoc a few hours. His fractured spine…he just lost too much blood. I'm sorry, Alphonse. You did what you could…"

"D-detective Havoc is dead…" Feury gasped out. He looked like he was about to pass out, even collapsing against the wall. Even Armstrong was shaking, though whether with fury or shock was unsure. Ed unclenched his fist and placed his flesh hand on Al's shoulder to comfort his brother. "H-how…?"

"I'll inform Rebecca," Hawkeye said. Like usual, she seemed to be unaffected by the news, though Ed happened to notice the minute twitching of her upper lip. All of it spoke to the seriousness of the situation, especially when Breda angrily slammed his hands on the desk.

"What complications?" he demanded. It was the only time that Ed had seen the burly man show such rage or passion. Hawkeye and Armstrong bustled past the brothers and left the room. "He was stable, so…"

"Knox wasn't clear," Mustang continued to reply calmly. "Something about a fragment of the bullet nicking his heart when they were operating on him."

"It was Truth…" Breda growled out. "That's it. I'm finding that fucking asshole and tearing him a new one!"

"Go ahead," Mustang replied as Breda turned away to leave the room. Then he tapped his desk loudly. "But leave your badge here."

"Excuse me?" Breda snapped, turning back to his boss. Mustang continued to tap the desk expectantly. "Are you telling me to not go after the bastard that shot Havoc?"  
"I'm telling you that we have bigger priorities," Roy said coldly. Ed's lips were twisting into a scowl; he knew that the bastard could be cold, but concerning the death of his own men, he was acting positively arctic. "We'll get Truth in due time, but right now we have civilian lives to worry about. I don't care if you want to investigate it, but you can do it without the power of the department behind you. We can't afford any more slander from the media, and I need you here."

"That's not fucking good enough!" Breda roared.

"Take it, or leave it, Breda." Al had stopped shaking, allowing Ed to remove his hand while he watched the older detective struggle with making up his mind. Eventually, and much to Ed's surprise, Breda ripped off his badge and slammed it on the desk. More surprising was that Feury was right behind him.

"Screw that," Breda said angrily. "Havoc was my partner, and he was our friend. He deserves better than this, but you just want to keep your job. Jean would've never cared about any of that if it were you that had taken the shot. So, I'll find that bastard on my own. Let's go, Feury."

"R-right…" the bespectacled detective stuttered out. He started to follow Breda out, but turned at the last second. "Sorry, sir, but Havoc was our friend, and he deserves us finding his killer. Hawkeye and Armstrong can take over for us."

Like that, they were gone, and the room felt incredibly empty. Lyra finally seemed to regain some sense of movement and she hung her head. "My condolences, Mustang. I know what it feels like to-"

"The hell you do, Lyra," Mustang growled out. "I want to do what they did a hundred times over, but I have a job, and damn if I'll let anyone else do it."

"Yes, but that doesn't change what needed to be done here," Lyra sighed out in distress. Ed flicked his eyes between the two angrily, wondering just which side was going to make a move. "The senate-"

"You go back to the senate and tell them to _fuck off_ ," Mustang snarled, causing an actual recoil from the woman. "Right now, they're interfering with a police investigation where lives are at stake, and, so help me, if those lives are lost because of this and I lose my job, I'll shove a storm the size of a hurricane so far up your ass, you won't know which way to turn. We'll see who loses their job, then."

Lyra looked incredibly distressed in that moment, her body fidgeting every which way. Ed kept his lips pursed as he watched the woman. It almost seemed like she was calculating her position in these circumstances. Mustang wasn't backing off an inch, however, and eventually the woman relented. "Understood. I'll deliver your message, if not as colorfully, perhaps."

"You do that." Mustang's voice was cold and biting. Lyra appeared to frown before bowing and leaving the room. Roy gave off a sigh when the door to the room finally clicked shut. "Sorry, Fullmetal, we haven't found your family yet. Obviously, things got complicated."

"You mean you let one of your officers get shot?" Ed shot at him testily. The commissioner looked up and glared at the blond for his comment. Even Ed could admit how callous it sounded, but he wanted Mustang to lose control a little.

"Don't be a brat, Ed," he snapped. "Havoc got shot by a sniper while in the line of duty. None of us could have prevented that, and don't think I didn't want to."

"You're right; it was cold," Ed conceded, folding his arms across his chest. "Just answer me one small thing, Mustang. Did Wrath escape…or did you let him go?"

There was a beat of silence in which Al looked at the pair of them in exasperation.

"Why would you ask that?" Ed's automail fingers dug into his skin with tension. He was defensive, and it was everything Ed needed. Still, he tried to keep his voice level.

"Because I know you," Ed answered. "Because I remember you not having a problem seventeen years ago when you shot Envy in the same exact place. You've never had a problem doing what needs to be done to catch someone, so how could Wrath have escaped…unless you let him."

"Don't jump to conclusions, Fullmetal. It's bad for your health," Mustang said dismissively. Ed ground his teeth together, stepped forward and slammed his own hands down. "What do you want from me?"

"The truth," was Ed's answer. "You're transparent, Mustang. You let Wrath go because of a publicity crapstorm if he escaped, right? Instead of getting the guy who could lead to my family, you cared more about your job."

"And I'd do it again." Ed was quite honestly surprised that Mustang had admitted it so easily. "No one wants to find your family as much as I do, but I have a lot more to consider than that. Father singled _me_ out, not you. He's using your family to punish me, and he'll hold that card until it's most opportune to play it."

"You're unbelievable!" Ed screamed, whipping around. "Tell me, Mustang, was there ever a moment in your life that you cared about anything other than yourself or your job?"

"Don't you _dare_ ask that of me," Mustang snapped with a frigid glare. Ed returned it, and though he knew what the commissioner was referring to, he didn't back down from his stance.

"Let's go, Al," Ed finally said, marching towards the door. "You're on your own, Mustang. I'm finding my family."

His words echoing through the office, Ed wrenched the door open and exited. Once Al was gone from the room as well, Ed chose to embrace his childish side and slam the door shut. Then he walked on. Lyra's army appeared to be ready to leave, but Ed ignored them and continued on until he and Al were out of the station. Apparently, Al had some choice words for him once they had. "That was kind of childish, Ed."

"Forgive me for being pissed at Commissioner Ash-for-Brains," Ed said with another surly fold of his arms, "but my family's in danger."

"That's no reason to burn your bridges," Al advised him sagely. Ed continued to scowl, knowing that his brother was right, but not wanting to admit it. Stubbornness was a trait he hadn't grown out of. Although, if he thought of it, Mustang had practically burned their bridges a long time ago. His phone suddenly interrupted this particular musing. Ed had to admit surprise at the caller ID.

"Greed," he said in an undertone, not wanting anyone to hear him on his way back to his car, "I'm surprised you called me."

"I have some info for you, Edward," the gang boss admitted. His voice held none of its usual humor and Ed knew that the situation was dangerous. He also knew that Greed wasn't likely to tell him over the phone.

"You wanna meet?"

"Eastwood in the southeast. You know it?" Greed asked simply.

"Not particularly," Ed admitted. "You don't want us to come to Dublith. Not that I mind, but…"

"I'm keeping on the move. Eastwood, tomorrow morning. I'll meet you out in front of the inn." Not even letting Ed argue the point, Greed clicked off. Ed looked at his phone a moment before pocketing it and turning to his brother, who was staring at him quizzically.

"What's going on, brother?"

"Looks like we're heading south."

* * *

Al had determined in no time that the drive to Eastwood would take the better part of four hours. Having had time to spare, the two brothers caught an early dinner in Central City before setting off and staying at a motel on their drive south. They were still up at a relatively early hour, as Ed was unaware what Greed had meant by meeting him in the morning, so they could get there quickly. To both Ed's disgruntlement and expectation, he'd had no call from Mustang. Still, he brushed it off after a quick breakfast and the brothers were on their way again.

Eastwood was comparatively unremarkable in terms of looks and attractions, offering only a nature walk in the vicinity, but at the same time, both brothers felt that made it appropriate for a secret meet about shady things. To that end, their presence outside the Teakwood Inn went largely unnoticed, or just ignored. At the very least, they'd gotten there before Greed, which was confirmed by the man and his upper gang staff rolling in with a conspicuous car and pulling to the front of the inn. The man in question rolled the window down and popped his head out while lowering his sunglasses.

"What do you boys say to a nature walk? I'll drive." Ed glanced in amusement towards his brother, both realizing they had little choice. Knowing that, they both got into the back of the car. The backseat was ironically small for such a large car, though that likely had to do with the large Roa taking up plenty of space. Naturally, he and Al had to squeeze next to him. "Glad to see you're small enough to fit in the backseat, boys."

"Will you quit it with the 'small' talk?" Ed snapped irritably.

Greed laughed with a slight air of condescension before tapping on the partition between him and his driver. "You know where to go, Martel."

The car took off immediately after, right through the streets of Eastwood. Neither of the brothers chose to say anything, but Ed continued to watch Greed, who was staring laconically out the window. Next to him was Dorochet, sitting calmly but with an obviously alert presence. On top of that, Roa being there indicated that Greed really had brought his top people along. It was a miracle that his gang had stayed the same after so many years. Ed had to admire the man for that, while also wondering what had pushed him to take to the road.

The buildings outside the car windows were vanishing, to be replaced with majestic pines and spruces. A few tourists were here and there, taking pictures, but Martel stopped the car and Greed finally moved, swaggering out of the car with his bodyguards behind him. The brothers followed, and Ed realized there was next to no sound other than nature. "Roa, guard the car with Martel. Dorochet, with us."

"Yes, boss," both of them responded simultaneously. Greed then snapped his glasses back on and walked towards the woods, still with his usual swagger. Hesitantly, Ed followed. The gang boss whisked into the brush of trees and as they entered as well, they were awash in darkness. Little streams of light poked through here and there, but for the most part, they were concealed by shadow.

"You don't think he's going to kill us, do you, brother?" Al whispered harshly. Ed didn't answer, but it wasn't like he was afraid. Any other gang boss, maybe, but Greed was beyond reproach. After they had walked for about half an hour, Greed stopped and proceeded to sit on a stump.

"Keep an eye out, Dorochet," he said, nodding his head at the brunet.

"What's this all about, Greed? You seem skittish," Ed noted. "The last time you were in the wind was the situation with Bradley, so what's going on?"

"Take a wild guess, Edward," Greed said with a smirk. "There's only one thing that can make me run with my tail between my legs."

"Homunculus Corp."

"Bingo! Give the shorty a prize!" Ed resisted the urge to clock Greed in the face and decided instead to listen. "I did that digging you wanted me to."

"Then I'm guessing you found something," Ed noted. Greed nodded before reaching into a pocket of his coat and pulling out some folded and crumpled papers.

"It wasn't easy to find," Greed explained. "Papers from almost forty years ago can be a pain in the ass to get. Ironically, it's even harder to get them from seventeen years ago since everyone was going digital and all that crap."

"So…it _is_ connected to the old Homunculus Corp?" Al questioned. Greed leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees.

"All of it," he answered. "That's why I'm on the move. Heard good ol' Lust and that fat slob Gluttony kicked the bucket. I've no idea what it's all about, but I'm not sticking around to be next on the list."

"Wait, so is he reforming Homunculus Corp or destroying its old remnants?" Ed asked, genuinely confused.

"If I had to make a guess, I'd say both," Greed mused. For a moment, he seemed to move his gaze over to Dorochet before returning to his explanation. "He's using the general seven-man structure that Homunculus Corp used, but he's killing them off for one reason or another. Either way, this Father guy plays dirty."

"Excuse me," Ed growled out. His automail fist clenched. "I don't remember telling you-"

"Edward, I live in the shadows. It's replete with plenty of info," Greed told him, as if it were obvious. "Look, after finding out about that shipment, and then what you told me, I did some digging. Couldn't find any confirmable evidence…not the kind the police can use, anyway. I was able to figure out who was behind all this crap, though. Did some digging and realized your half-brother has a real screw loose. Obviously, mommy and daddy didn't love him enough. Not hard to figure _that_ out."

With these words, Greed tossed the papers at the brothers. They had a surprising amount of momentum and allowed Ed to catch them with his flesh hand. Al leaned in towards him as he unfolded the paper. The sheet itself was more or less blank, but inside it were a few photos. The two oldest photos were at the top and Ed got a look at one of President Dante outside an orphanage. Her head was on top of a blond boy's head as she smiled at the camera. It didn't take a genius to figure out who that boy was. As he roved his eyes along the photo's surface, Ed caught the next photo of Dante…and his father.

"So…you know about them, then?"

"Not hard to figure out," Greed chuckled. "Daddy and the president did the dirty in college. Daddy didn't know. But, Edward, I'm no idiot. This whole thing is about more than jealousy. You'd have to be a fool to not catch the connections. I followed your career, you know, for leverage and all. In any case, the way things are going is eerily reminiscent of past cases. When one puts the dots together, it's pretty easy to see why Father would go after you: revenge."

"What are you trying to say, Greed?" Ed snapped as Al took the photos from him.

"Nothing. I just have a guess from a flimsy amount of evidence," Greed said nonchalantly. "Although, if I can figure it out from a few police reports and pictures, I'm sure others would be able to do the same."

Ed would have glared at him and vehemently denied everything, but Al was nudging him. It drew his attention to the orphanage picture. His brother quickly pointed at the sight of a younger girl tugging on the boy who would become Father's arm. She looked familiar. "Isn't that Lyra?"  
"Head of the Intelligence Agency," Greed stated simply. "I'd watch out for her. There's barely anything on her. Only that she made her name as an analyst some years back during a terrorist situation. She got her position pretty quick, though…not that it's any surprise when she has clear connections."

"And what about Wrath? You know, the one you actually said you'd look into," Ed reminded him.

"Nothing. Guy's like a ghost, but if I had to guess, he's either connected to your father or the orphanage. Ather continued to visit it once he'd made it big."

"That's something…but not by much," Ed concluded. Greed just shrugged and stood.

"You can keep those," he said. "Don't expect any more, though. I'm getting out of country. Hell, after this thing has resurfaced, I might just retire the gang completely."

"Oh, say hi to Mei and my kids," Al stated. Greed looked flabbergasted at the fact that Al had guessed his destination (which wasn't that hard), while Ed folded the photos up again and tucked them into his jacket. Greed didn't say any more, but he whistled over to Dorochet and the quartet proceeded back through the trees and out to the still abandoned lot. Of course, Al didn't relax until they were finally back in town and getting out of the car.

"Thanks for the help, Greed," Ed told him, leaning on the car as they got out. Greed smirked.

"Someday, you'll owe me for all this information," he responded cockily. "Good luck, though. And pay a visit to Izumi from time to time so she doesn't start ripping people's heads off."

"Will do," he replied with a repressed shudder. With that, he tapped the car, prompting Greed to roll up the window and drive off. Ed and Al watched him go, and only once he disappeared did the two go back over to their car to figure out their next move. The second Ed had slammed the door shut, his phone began to ring. He answered it without hesitation, accidentally putting it on speaker.

"Edward, it's Detective Brosh," called the voice of the homicide detective. His voice echoing around the car drew even Al's attention to him.

"Oh, hey, have you made any progress on my dad's case?" Ed asked, furrowing his brow a little.

"I'm busy running down some leads," Brosh answered. He sounded a little off to Ed, but guessed that it had to do with the effect of the speaker. "Just had a few more questions that came up in the course of the investigation."

"Go ahead."

"Did your father ever work on a case while you were employed by the department?" Ed scratched his head as he tried to think of any of those moments. Only one came to mind.

"He helped us to set up the sting that led to Kimblee's capture seventeen years ago, but that's about it, really," Ed answered truthfully. There was a brief silence on the other end before Brosh asked his next question.

"Was there a relationship between your father and the late President Dante?" Now, Ed blinked a little. Al looked slightly alarmed, but Ed had no reason to suspect that Brosh knew anything.

"Well, yeah. Everyone knows they were good friends."

"Thanks. I'll be in touch." The phone then clicked off. Ed looked at it curiously, then shoved the entire conversation from his mind before starting the car.

"Well…what now, brother?" Al had put forth a question. Now that he was running his own investigation, Ed had almost no idea where to begin. Quickly, he ran through the different options available to him, one of which stood out immediately. They needed to go to the one crime scene they hadn't yet. The one that had been overlooked.

"Al, we're heading to Resembool."

* * *

 **Author's Note: The moment where Roy lost half of his team and the question Ed asked was originally going to be much bigger in terms of yelling and screaming, but with Lyra in the scene, I wanted it to be more subtle and quieter. The rage is there, but it's not exploding. Yes, Havoc is proclaimed dead. And I'm filling in the blanks on Father's past and his plan. Also, if it isn't obvious, people are starting to suspect what happened sixteen years prior. However, we still have quite a few chapters to go before this story and trilogy reach their close. Continue along with me! In the meantime, Review and Dare to Be Silly.**


	12. Chapter 12

**It's so rare for me to actually relax when writing this story, but after finishing some projects, I was able to take my time with this chapter and enjoy it. I hope you'll enjoy Chapter 12, too!**

* * *

Chapter 12

"Well, this is certainly a mess," Hawkeye commented. Roy looked up from his work, even if he could admit that he'd done nothing but stare at it for the last few minutes.

"Are you going to leave as well?" he asked upon gazing at her, framed in the open door.

"You know that I never would," she responded curtly. Leaving the door open, Hawkeye moved towards his desk and seated herself, with one leg over the other, in one of the chairs across from him. "I made you a promise, just as Hughes did."

"To watch my back until I've reached the top…" Mustang ran an agitated hand through his hair with a rather loud sigh. "Well, it would seem I've reached it."

"Unless you wanted to be president, sir." It would have seemed serious if the both of them didn't share the same history that told him it was a joke. Neither of them needed a reminder of what that kind of power led to. They were already grappling with it.

Giving a grunt of dissatisfaction, Mustang tossed his pen down onto his desk. Only the brief flit of Riza's eyes told him that he had her attentions. "Do you feel I've become a good commissioner?"  
"You're a good man," she informed him, though he took little solace in that. "I will admit to having some misgivings about your course of action lately…but…I can only imagine the difficult situation you must be in regarding the Elrics."

"Misgivings, huh?" he mused for a moment. "Enough to make you shoot me in the back?"

"Almost…but not quite." The answer seemed to be a positive one, but Mustang could admit to not liking it. To drive her to that point would truly be an unforgiveable sin. "While I question some decisions, my loyalty, as always, remains unwavering."

"Perhaps I've overestimated Breda and Feury's loyalty, then."

"You know that's not the case," Hawkeye snapped at him sternly. Mustang made a vague noise of assent regarding the issue. "They want justice, and I'm sure you do as well. Understanding the gravity of your choices makes me keep my gun holstered."

"Glad to know," Mustang scoffed out. "And Armstrong…which does he share? Your misgivings or your loyalty?"

"I would think you'd know the answer to that," Hawkeye concluded. Mustang now leaned back in his chair. He did know the answer; Armstrong was ever-loyal. If not to him, then to the ideals a police officer was meant to embody. He would never go after an officer's killer if the alternative was civilian casualty. Armstrong had too much honor for that, compared to his sister. The commissioner figured that was probably why they didn't get along very well.

"And my dealings with Edward? Do you wish I'd handled it better?"

"You handled it as well as you could given the situation," came the dismissal. "I very much doubt that Edward hates you, but he _is_ coming from a place of having his family kidnapped. Maybe you should give him a call."

"Fat chance. He's had a night to cool off, and if he hasn't called, he doesn't want my help quite yet," Mustang insisted, spinning his chair around. "Sometimes I just wish he wasn't such a brat. Winry's way too good for him."

"Says the man who never married."

"Coming from the only woman I'd ever want to," was Roy's simple response. Hawkeye gave off a soft smile in response. For all intents and purposes, the two of them were married in all but name, even if it _was_ to their jobs. For that moment, that was fine, but there were moments where Mustang could admit to wanting more. That would take admitting that he'd made the wrong choice, however, and that was something he didn't want to abide.

A sudden knocking on the open door alerted both of them to someone there, bringing an abrupt end to their conversation.

"Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I was wondering if I might have a word," called the serious tone of Detective Brosh's voice. The commissioner could admit to being surprised at his presence there, but he waved him in regardless. As Brosh closed the door behind him, Hawkeye stood and vacated her seat for him, moving to stand rigidly (yet comfortably) behind Mustang. Brosh offered a nod of thanks to the Chief and sat in the chair, looking rather tense.

"I'm surprised to see you, Brosh, considering we parted in East City," he noted, pushing some papers away to focus on the sandy-blond's face.

"My investigation led me back to Central," the younger man responded with. "The murder _did_ take place here, after all."

"True enough," Mustang chuckled in response. "I'm guessing you've made headway on the investigation then. Mind sharing your progress?"

"Er…East City was a dead end. All I can officially say is that those people involved with the Mugear business had a hand in Mr. Hohenheim's death. But your people are working that angle, right?" Mustang nodded, still waiting to hear on any progress made. "Anyway, I decided to look into things here in Central, checking visitor logs, so forth and so on."

"And did you find anything?"

"A woman, unnamed, but it would seem that she was connected to an orphanage. I found that out through Mr. Hohenheim's secretary. Guess he had her scheduled for a meeting that day, but the secretary only had vague details. Anyway, whatever he was looking into, the secretary said that he looked like he'd seen a ghost. Other than that, he wouldn't say much. Thankfully, when she signed in, she gave some sort of fake name. I contacted some old informants regarding new identities from when I was in robbery and, still not getting any real names, I was able to track to an old orphanage in East City. That's when I found this."

With those words, he slapped down a weathered photo onto the desk. Roy pulled it slightly towards himself. It was an old photo, and not one of very good quality, but it was easy enough to tell the details. In the photo was a group of children of varying ages. The seemingly oldest was a boy with blond hair. Mustang didn't need labels to know exactly who it was: Ather. The other children were relatively unfamiliar, though some faces tickled at his brain. More importantly were the two women in the photo. One was a younger woman with kind eyes. Her bearing and clear affection made her the obvious head of the orphanage. The other woman was unmistakably President Dante.

"I'm sure you knew that the former president and Hohenheim knew each other," Brosh said quietly.

"Their friendship wasn't exactly a well-guarded secret," Roy responded, pushing the photo back over.

"That's true…but I had to wonder: if Hohenheim had so few enemies, how did he turn up dead?" It was an interesting question, but not one that Roy, himself, had to figure out. "So, I came to the only answer that made sense: revenge."

"Revenge for what, exactly, Brosh?"

"I was stumped, too, for a while," the detective answered, rubbing the back of his head. "Until I remembered a conversation you had with Alphonse Elric about sixteen years ago. That was the bomb threat to Amestris by the then-Chief Archer, right?"

"That's right," came Mustang's answer as he narrowed his eyes. An uncomfortable sensation was forming in his stomach. This wasn't going to end well.

"I never noticed until now, but all of you never like talking about it. I always thought you were just traumatized by the whole situation," Brosh began to say. "This picture made me think differently."

"Why would a picture from almost thirty years ago make you think differently about an event from sixteen years ago?"

"Because President Dante's in the picture with one boy. I have my own guesses as to who he is, but it's clear that he's a relation. And if the only motive for murdering Van Hohenheim is revenge, then it leads to only one possible conclusion given everything else that's happened recently," Brosh stated confidently. He almost looked angry as Roy began tapping absentmindedly on the desk. "I'm a detective in Homicide now, so the stakes are higher. I may not have been one long, but it's enough to know that difficult choices have to be made…but at the same time, there's lines you just can't cross.

"So…why? ! Why did you assassinate President Dante, Commissioner Mustang? !"

Like a balloon getting a puncture, it felt like all the air was being let out of the room. Yet even so, Roy felt surprisingly calm. He had thought he'd be frantic or spiraling when someone learned the truth of what had happened sixteen years ago. He didn't and he wasn't. In fact, Roy just leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. He wasn't going to try and deny this, but he wanted to know more.

"And how did you come to this conclusion?" he asked quietly.

"My hunch in combination with a few other things. That boy, judging by the way President Dante looks, is likely her son, and Van Hohenheim's. I would guess he has some unresolved issues," Brosh answered. "I wouldn't have thought anything of it, though, if it weren't for that woman at Mugear and Company, Lust. She was part of the original Homunculus Corporation, a corporation that _you_ took down. It was more than coincidence, and I couldn't shake it. I looked into the records and there isn't a single eyewitness report that definitively states that Archer shot the president. But you were there…and Captain Armstrong was running security, even going so far as to have his men check out a fake lead.

"The conclusion of what really happened came naturally, and right now I'm torn. I want to know why."

Mustang let his question and request hang in the air for a moment, but eventually he sighed with a light smile. "You know, I'm glad I transferred you to Homicide. Age has done you well, and you have a good head on your shoulders."

"Y-you're not going to deny it?" Brosh looked a cross between furious and perplexed.

"Why bother insulting your intelligence?" Roy asked of him. Behind him, Riza had yet to move, still as a stone statue, so he continued on. "But don't judge me so quickly. I did what I had to do, and I don't regret it. Sometimes…sometimes sacrifices have to be made."

"Sacrifices? !" Gone was the perplexity in his voice, replaced wholly by rage and indignation. "What sacrifices? ! What could justify murder in any sense? !"

"Tell me, Brosh," Mustang decided to ask, his voice turning cold, "if many people were in danger, and you knew the one responsible, would you really let them get away because of their position?"

"I would have them answer for their crimes. Have them stand trial," was the answer. It was a naïve answer, in the commissioner's opinion. Many years ago, he may have thought the same way, but that innocence died the same day that Hughes did. Perhaps he was jaded from all his time in Homicide, or maybe Brosh was just resistant to the evils of the world.

"And if they wouldn't? If they were so powerful that a trial would be a farce?"

"That doesn't matter," Brosh protested, standing angrily with his words. "We are officers of the law, not judge, jury, and executioner!"

"You're right, we're not," Roy confessed. "Sometimes, though, you have to make a choice. You have to weigh one life against countless others. In a single moment, you can either act as executioner…or terrorist. It may be a black and white view, but sometimes you need that when making gray decisions. It's after the fact, when you have to understand how gray it was, even if it hurts."

"Black and white…gray areas…we're cops! Officers of the law!" Brosh protested angrily. "We _don't_ decide who lives and who dies. That makes you no different from Bradley. Take it any further and it could make you evil."

"I am _not_ Bradley!" Mustang's temper was rising. His calmness was near gone at being compared to the man that had taken Hughes from them. "I made a choice, a sacrifice, and it was one of the hardest things I ever had to do."

"Then why did you do it?" He sounded pleading now. As if he couldn't make sense of any of it, needing an answer to validate who _he_ was or something. "What reason could you possibly have, to do something so heinous…"

"I told you: I weighed her life against countless others," Roy responded, some of the anger subsiding, but still present. "I had to make a decision in a single moment about who lived and who died; whose blood was going to be on my hands. So I chose, and I chose to save civilian lives from a power-hungry woman and her vain ambition."

"But you framed…Archer…why not just accept your crime…" He sounded completely lost now.

"Archer was anything but innocent in that situation, and I couldn't protect the civilian population from people like them from a prison cell."

Brosh didn't have an answer to that, too busy heaving breaths as though he was close to hyperventilating. When he eventually seemed to get his body under control, though his hands were gripping and clawing at Mustang's desk, he looked up. "I thought…the badge used to _mean_ something."

Roy looked at him sadly, his eyes trailing down to the badge at his waist. It was a truth he had been running from for so long. Filling himself with his job and his virtues, it made him ignore reality simply because it was one he didn't want to accept. "The badge never meant a thing. All it meant was that you were a killer, or trying to stop them."

"That's it?" Brosh gasped out, falling back into his chair. Mustang stood at this and walked around his desk, past Brosh. "How can you just ignore it? What you've done?"

"Ignore it?" the commissioner responded, his hand on the door. "I live with it every day." With those words, he pushed open the doors and left his office. A few steps out he stumbled, the full load of the situation hitting him like a ton of bricks. Staggering into Rose's empty desk, he listened to the remainder of the conversation taking place inside.

"Chief Hawkeye…is this…is this really what we've become?" Brosh was asking. "I…I looked up to all of you when I was an officer; thought of you as the most morally just and…What am I supposed to think now? What am I supposed to do now?"

"Brosh…Denny…" Hawkeye said in a low voice. It must have been enough to grab his attention because she continued on. "Not everything is easy in this position. We all have our sins to bear. We all have the secrets we've kept. We all have the choices we made. And we chose to wade through a river of blood that day, so that others like you wouldn't have to."

"But I…"

"Hold on to your beliefs, Denny. Goodness knows Roy has held onto his," she said calmly, her voice drawing closer. "If you want to think, think of finding Van Hohenheim's killer. Maybe by the time you have, you'll understand why we plunged our hands into the filth to keep yours clean. Can you do that?"

"I can," he answered dully. "But I want you to promise…tell me everything."

"After it's done, we promise." That was the end of the conversation. Roy straightened himself as Hawkeye left his office and fell into step alongside him. "Unexpected, but what's our next move?"

"I can't be worried about Brosh's actions, not with all the moving pieces," Mustang told her sternly. His mind had snapped back to the mode of being commissioner, only now he was more determined than ever to bring Ather down. "We need information, and I've lost too many pieces to avoid moving myself."

"Is that wise? It could put you closer to checkmate," Riza said, a slight amusement playing in her voice.

"It's unavoidable at this point," he responded. "Besides, I still have my queen by my side, and she's the most versatile piece I have."

"True enough. Again, though, sir: what's our plan?"

"Information. I'm starting to feel like every little piece is connected. Most particularly the 'Philosopher's Stone'. I've no idea how it applies to Ather's twisted plan, but I have some guesses."

"I'd suggest Senator Lowe, then," Hawkeye expressed to him with pursed lips. "Given the history of things, I'm pretty sure he hates Ather as much as you do. He might just have the information you need."

"Great idea; he's one of the few politicians I actually trust, after all. You'll stay here then?" Mustang asked, plunging his hands into his pockets as he made his way outside.

"Someone has to run the station in your absence, and I think we've left Armstrong for long enough," she said simply. Mustang stopped at the threshold to the station and looked back at her. She nodded with a slight smile and then whipped around before storming further into the station. He sighed and then continued outward, past some greeting officers, to his car. The second he was inside, he called Senator Lowe's office to ensure he was available. He got a very simple response from the man's secretary.

"For you, Commissioner Mustang, the senator always has some spare time on his hands. We look forward to your visit." That was good enough for Mustang and he drove off to the Capitol Building, where the senate offices were.

The drive, while short in distance, felt like an eternity. Roy wasn't sure for what reason that was. It could have been because he was all alone, or perhaps it was who he was going to see. For sure, there was a lot on his mind during that drive, from the Elric family to Ed's indignation to Brosh's conclusions. He knew that he couldn't just brush that last one aside. Brosh was a variable he hadn't expected, and thus had no idea as to how he would act. Should the sandy-blond detective choose to do so, Roy knew that all his decisions from the last sixteen years would be called into question, and he couldn't have that.

He may have murdered the president, but he'd done a lot of good for the country, as well.

Yet at the same time, he found himself questioning. Had he really done anything? He liked to believe that he had, but right now the evidence was stacking against that. Terrorists still existed, the drug trade and gangs still roamed the streets, people were still murdered, and villainous nutbags still nursed vendettas against him. All he had done was restructuring and incentivizing, maybe weeding out the good cops from the bad. But if he wasn't able to save a single life of one of his own, what good was he?

And maybe Brosh had a point: was he any better than Bradley?

Perhaps, after all this time, the dream he'd worked so hard to attain simply became just that. It was an impossible hope, and one that continued to drag good men into the mud. It was no wonder that many cops retired early, even if he never had. Maybe the time _had_ come…

Finally, Mustang pulled up in front of the Capitol Building and walked the known path to Senator Logue Lowe's office. As expected, the secretary was waiting for him and let him in. Lowe was at his desk, reading through papers with a pair of glasses resting far down on his nose. He didn't look up, and Mustang was fine with that, the senator not looking at him until the both of them were seated.

"Troubling times, Mustang, troubling times…" the man grumbled before placing his papers down. "And I thought being held hostage in the bank was frightening. Ather's new world seems almost downright apocalyptic."

"Do tell…" Mustang said with a scoff. Lowe frowned at him and pushed some papers aside.

"Don't worry about it. Just as Ishvalan problems are for Ishvala, so are senate problems for the senate," Lowe dismissed. "I doubt you wish to speak much about Ather anyway, given your animosity and the vigilante problem."

"Actually, Ather was the exact reason I came here, in a way," Roy confessed. To this, Lowe raised his eyebrow in interest and leaned forward with a rare grin.

"Do tell, commissioner." The intent behind the repeated phrase was all too clear.

"How much do you know about this STONE Project he's been supporting with the bill?" was the first question asked. Lowe sat back now in obvious contemplation.

"Not that it changes my answers, but what's your particular interest?"

"Did you hear about the senate-mandated review of my department?" The senator nodded slowly, both confirming his knowledge while holding some skepticism. "It was run by Lyra, and ordered by the Intelligence Committee."

"And you think it ties to Ather's STONE Bill and Project," Low concluded. Mustang gave no indication of confirmation, but the senator took it as one all the same. "Makes sense to me. I'm not sure if Ather is on the warpath or just delusional."

"So, you know what he's up to with his little project?"

"I know enough," was the answer. "Bit by bit, I've been receiving intel from an agent, though they remained anonymous. I couldn't tell you who they are, but they seemed to want to help me build a better case against the STONE Bill. Makes sense when I've been the most vocal opposition."

"Did you ever find anything? And if you did, was there ever a reason for not sharing it?" Mustang asked, crossing his legs on his chair. Lowe's lips appeared to twitch in slight displeasure before answering,

"I never came forth with anything because it seemed pointless. That, and who knows what I would have been accused of if I'd done so. Espionage? Treason? I can't serve Ishval from behind cell bars," the older man barked out. "However, my leaks did give me something."

"And what was that something?" He already had a pretty good idea of exactly what it was.

"An old military file," Lowe confessed. "It's from around twenty years ago, when I was still mayor, as I'm sure you well remember." Roy inclined his head, indicating that he more than remembered. Ishval had been too much of a hell at the time to forget.

"Let me guess, a joint military and intelligence mission," Mustang pointed out. To his own surprise, Lowe didn't look the least bit shocked that he knew this, like he expected him to. "Codename: Philosopher's Stone?"

"That's the one. I'm sure you made the connection in words right away." He actually hadn't; not really. Now that Lowe was saying it aloud, however, the connection became all too obvious. It was obvious that Father's bill in the senate was connected to that age-old military tactic, though he wasn't quite sure how yet.

"From what I understand, it involves gathering enemy weapons for an ultimate assault, or some nonsense like that. Do you have the file?" Mustang asked, his mind attempting to put together the pieces.

"I put it in my safety deposit box," was the answer. Roy's eyebrows flew into his hair at that. "It was still there, though, so there was nothing to tell. Though now I wish I had informed you sooner."

"It's fine. What could be in that file that's worth stealing?"

"A few names and modern day application," Lowe answered, looking tired as he did so. The man rubbed his temples furiously before continuing on. "I can't confirm explicitly what Ather's intentions are, but the file connections give me enough of a guess. He's using the funds from the STONE Bill to shore up a rather large nuclear project."

"He's building a bomb? !"

"Not entirely sure. It could be a bomb, could be a targeting system, could be anything. Whatever it is, it's dangerous and there's nothing I could do about it." Lowe leaned forward properly this time and stared right into Mustang's eyes insistently. "The only way I can stop this, thanks to a lot of the senate being in Ather's pocket, is proving that this whole operation is illegal and happening. I don't have those kinds of resources, though I have a feeling that my mysterious informant wanted me to do just that."

"Are you asking what I think you're asking, Senator Lowe?" Mustang asked. "Are you giving me a form of carte blanche in taking Ather's ridiculous proposal down from my side?"

"If that's what you think," the senator chuckled out. At this point, he stood and walked around his desk to fill two glasses of water, handing one over to Roy. The commissioner took it gratefully and downed it in seconds. "The reason I think my informant wanted me to take down this whole thing is thanks to the names in the file."

"Give me the names and I'll see what I can dig up."

"All right," Lowe grunted out, seating himself once more. "Hope you don't mind me not writing it down for you. Anyway, one of the names on the file from twenty years ago was an agent wet behind the ears at the time: Jonathan Drake."

"Drake? !" Mustang asked in surprise. He really shouldn't have been, given the man's current state. Briefly, Roy recalled their conversation at the wedding, causing him to frown. Had he known this entire time? Or had he just been made aware of the connections between his old operation and the new project? "What's the other name?"

"A name both you and I are _very_ familiar with, I'm sorry to say," Lowe told him before sipping on his water. "It was an analyst some years ago who dug the file out after an incident with a certain terrorist that shot you. She must have done so out of the means of national security, though now I second guess that motive."

"Lyra," was the most obvious answer.

"I'd have thought nothing of it, if one wasn't the supposed project director and the other the head of the whole agency," Lowe finished. Shortly after, he finished his water and loudly cleared his throat. "So, is there something you can do with that?"

"It's something, all right, but I'll have to parse through it."

"I'm sure you'll succeed. Truth be told, you're the only man I can trust with this information that's in a position to do anything about it."

"And I'll make sure to give it meaning," Roy concluded for the senator. Lowe gave a short "mmm" of agreement while Mustang mulled over all of the details he had just been given. Perhaps most important was the fact that both of those names ultimately created a direct line to Father. If any one of them could have their actions, for the country's sake or not, being proven profoundly illegal, it would put a dent in Father's rather impervious armor, or at the very least remove the support of his STONE Bill.

Nevertheless, something still wasn't sitting quite right about that thought, but the commissioner decided to table that thought until he was alone. He may have trusted Senator Lowe, but when it came to his current situation, he was loathe to trust any but those closest to him; a number which was dwindling by the hour. Roy stood, planning to leave the room.

"Mustang, can I ask you something?" Lowe spouted off curiously. The commissioner turned to him. "Why the sudden, increased interest in Ather's activities?"  
"To put simply, he's making my life a living hell at the department, and I don't want him exerting that kind of control," came the answer. Lowe nodded, clearly satisfied with the answer. Roy finally took his leave, exiting the room and weaving his way through the halls beyond. He didn't stop for anyone or anything, hoping to keep all of the information he'd just received intact in his brain. At least, until he reached his car. Once he had, he locked the doors and sat back.

Lyra and Jonathan Drake; two people that could almost be taken as the head of the snake. To any other officer of the law, it might have appeared that they were equally culpable, but Mustang had a feeling that it was a far different situation than all of that. The biggest difference, naturally, was that Jonathan Drake was dead. That alone told him that something about the situation had changed. One could argue that his death was random; that no spy would ever kill a man so crudely without cleanup. Yet the similarities of his death to that of Hughes spoke otherwise. That could only have one final conclusion to it.

Jonathan Drake Sr. was anything but a criminal.

Perhaps he had been trying to hint as such at the wedding of his son, telling him of his involvement in the project. Perhaps he even could have been Lowe's informant within the agency. That seemed unlikely, however, owing to his immediate actions before his death. After all, Jonathan Drake Sr. had been trying to call him, which Roy felt he would have done so earlier had he known. No, it was obvious that Drake had discovered something about the project and its intentions beyond a simple shoring up of funds. He might have even learned about Father's entire plan, as unlikely as it was.

For a brief moment, Roy considered calling the junior, despite being off on his honeymoon with Elicia. He quickly thought better of it; painting a target on that boy's back for even talking was not a good idea. Not when Elicia had already lost enough. Roy knew he'd have to make do with what he had in order to discover what Jonathan Drake Sr. had discovered, and to find Lowe's mysterious informant. Satisfied with his decision, Mustang prepared to leave the lot when his phone rang. He was a little surprised to find the caller was unknown, but answered it anyway.

"How was your trip to the Capitol Building, Commissioner?" droned out Father's deep tones. Roy's face furrowed, his eyes squinting outside of his car until he caught sight of the man in question leaning against a car with a leering grin on his face.

"It was illuminating," was the only answer he gave.

"I take it, then, that you're enjoying our little game," Father taunted him. His voice was quiet and his words ambiguous, as if to say he wouldn't be caught so easily out in the open.

"Hardly, but I'm pretty sure I have you in check by this point."

"You do?" he asked, more in amusement than surprised. "Because I was thinking the opposite of that, myself. I'm afraid you'll lose quite soon."

"Will I? I beg to differ," Roy argued vehemently. "I'm not just doing this for myself, so I'll make sure to win it."

"You're doing it for someone other than yourself…well, you could have fooled me, Commissioner. You could have fooled me."

Then he ended the call and walked off, leaving Mustang more disgruntled than before. This whole situation was getting rather annoying, scrabbling for information amidst taunts and a time limit. He wished he had a way to attain more reliable info. Tapping his fingers against his steering wheel, it hit him. Lowe had an informant that would help him take down Ather's plan from the inside senate-wise. So all he needed to do was get information from Father's own.

All he needed to do was capture a sin and squeeze until they talked.

* * *

 **Author's Note: The scene with Brosh is one that I've been planning for a long time, particularly Riza's dialogue. It was probably one of the first things I'd figured out for the story. Other than that, there's really not much to say but the plot will begin flying off towards the climax of this story in the next chapter, so I hope you all look forward to that. In the meantime, Review, and Dare to Be Silly.**


	13. Chapter 13

**I've no idea what to say here, but I've clearly run out of things to say. So, let's start Chapter 13 today!**

* * *

Chapter 13

Ed could admit to feeling a sense of trepidation within himself. At least, he could admit to feeling that to Al. Thankfully, no one else was around, so he was free to admit that on their drive to Resembool. While Ed drove, Al continued flicking through the packet of pictures they had received from Greed, as though entranced.

"I never knew President Dante actually visited her son in the orphanage," he had commented when they began pulling into Resembool. Ed scowled at him.

"Don't fall for it, Al," he reminded his younger brother. Sometimes he could be far too naïve and gullible; of course, Ed realized how cynical and mistrusting _he_ was. It was what had kept him alive for so many years. It also made him a good counterbalance to his brother, but he didn't mention that. "Dante was as selfish and evil as they come."

"I know that," Al whined to his brother, almost like he was chiding him. "I'm just saying that it's surprising. I would have thought she didn't care about anything other than power."

"She obviously didn't. Her son turned out to be just as psycho as she was!" Ed snapped out. Al frowned at him, causing he to cast him an apologetic smile. He was simply on edge from everything, and not knowing what would happen next was getting on his nerves. He looked over the photo in Al's hands and took it before he could stop himself. Some of the details had been harder to tell in the dark forest, but in the bright sun of Resembool, he could now make out details on many of the children's faces.

That made Ed's scowl all the more prominent. Father was smiling lightly, though it could have easily turned into a smirk as Dante's hand rested on his shoulder. Next to him, tugging on his shirt was the slightly younger Lyra. A lot of other children were giving toothy grins or otherwise sweet expressions for the camera. One of them was on his feet in a crouch with a wild grin that looked somewhat familiar, as an older black-haired boy was pulling at the younger one's shirt in what looked like admonishment. The woman behind them held a crinkled smile. They all looked happy, but Ed could only see the darkness that must have laid beneath it.

"Let's just put this away," he snapped finally, shoving the picture into Al's hands as he finally pulled up right outside his house. Al didn't look all too pleased from the action, but started to do it anyway. Ed shut the car down and got out. Even in the bright streaming sun, the house looked so cold now. It was like all the warmth had been sucked out of it.

"You okay, brother?" Al asked him kindly from the other side.

"I will be," he said with determination. _Once I get them back…_

The brothers proceeded up the walkway without talking, the crunch of the gravel underneath their feet the only thing they could hear until Ed reached the front door. It swung open easily, making an angry grimace wash over Ed's face. Clenching his automail fist tightly, Ed walked further in, trying to ignore the family pictures on the wall. If he were to look at them, it would do little but infuriate him, and at that moment, he knew that he needed to keep his head clear. He proceeded further in and looked around at the living room, which seemed almost pristine.

"I don't think anyone was here," Al commented upon seeing the immaculate state of the rooms. Ed was half-inclined to agree, but knew he'd be a fool to not investigate further, especially with the way the door swung open so easily.

Knowing that, Ed turned into the living room, usually the first location he'd head for after a day at work. Other than a missing remote (no doubt thanks to Lizzie playing with it on the couch), little looked out of place in the room but for a small note. Smiling to himself and shaking his head, Ed moved and picked the note up from the coffee table. It was so typical of Winry to do that, leaving him a note in case she had to work late. They were both so similar.

 _Dinner's in the fridge. Don't blow it up._

 _And drink your milk!_

Chuckling at the message that his wife had left him, Ed pocketed the note and decided to make his way over to the kitchen. Al just stood there, watching him quietly. Even if his wife was missing, at least he had her notes. Stopping in front of the fridge, Ed pulled the door open. Like usual, it was packed with food, but a far more disconcerting sight met his, and soon Al's, eyes.

The dinner that Winry had made, a simple steak with peas and a glass of milk, was easy enough to find, but not because of its prominence in the fridge or the note that was now askew on top of it. Both brothers easily noticed its state due to the fact that the steak was half-eaten and the milk almost gone. He still didn't like milk, but drinking _his_ milk was akin to crossing the line. The statement made by such an action was beyond clear: we can get to you at any time. Controlling the urge to grab things and throw them, Ed instead reached for Winry's note and crumpled it under his hands.

"How long…?" he growled out ferociously. Al took a step back. "How long had they been planning this? Watching us? What kind of sick bastards…?"

"Brother, calm down!" Al suddenly pleaded.

"No, Al! I won't calm down!" he yelled. Al gave him a stern look, but he continued on. "You can tell me to calm down when your family is kidnapped and your house has been broken into."  
"That's enough, Ed!" Al yelled and the older brother felt himself get struck across the face. "You won't help Winry by being upset. Now calm down and think! They were in your house, so what does that mean?"

"It means…" Ed said, nursing his cheek. His brother's fist hurt, but it also allowed his head to clear from the rage. "It means they must've known our schedule. Our routine."

Al nodded with a pleased grin; obviously, he was glad that Ed could think again. "Exactly. So, let's think about what that means for what they did."

"Well, I would almost always be the first one out of the house," Ed mused, slamming the fridge door shut. He didn't want to look at that abhorrent sight any longer. "Not that it really applies much since I was out of the house a lot to deal with dad's death."

"Somehow, I don't think your schedule matters quite as much as the rest of the family does," Al pointed out sagely. Ed gave a nod at that, noting the wisdom, and he placed a hand on his chin with a frown.

"I would usually be the one to drop the kids off, but I know they got to school fine since that's where they were taken from. Winry…Winry…" A thought entered Ed's brain, one that he couldn't believe he hadn't had sooner. His wife had told him exactly where she'd been abducted from, and it certainly wasn't the house. "The shop."

"That makes sense. It's open to the public and Winry essentially works alone, so I could definitely see-"

"There's no possibility about it, Al. Winry was definitely taken from the shop," he told his little brother firmly. Al watched a moment but then nodded silently. Flicking the lights off from the kitchen, the two Elric brothers left the house, Ed taking one brief glance at a family photo on his way out. He and Winry looked so happy, sitting and standing there. Eddie looked happy as he always did and Lizzie looked the part of the mischievous little imp that she was. Lucas was the only one who looked slightly nervous, but Ed remembered that day and giving words of encouragement for him to calm down.

Seeing it lit a fire inside of Ed as he stormed out of the house and into his car. Al didn't say a word to him, obviously realizing that something (or just one specific thing) was on his mind. The car started up again and the boys drove the short distance along country roads to get to Winry's shop, still bearing the name "Rockbell Mechanics". He was certain that name would never change as long as Winry or the family was in charge of it. Someone happened to be waiting outside.

"Oh, Mr. Elric!" the voice called. As Ed walked closer, he recognized it to be the town's butcher, his own automail arm groaning loudly as he waved at the brothers. "Alphonse, too!"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Garrick," Al greeted. The older brother considered that a good thing, as he was hardly in a state to talk. "What can we do for you today?"

"Ah, just some automail issues," the man chuckled out. "I actually got some pig's blood inside the gears, so it stopped working as easily as usual. I tried calling the shop, but your wife wouldn't pick up. Did she take the day off?"

"Something like that," Ed mumbled, though he hoped the man wouldn't call his bluff. Winry _never_ took a day off, except for the times that she was pregnant. Hopefully, he could keep the truth hidden while still asking a few questions. "Pig's blood, huh? Yeah, Winry won't be too happy about that. Have you tried to get it out at all?"

The butcher laughed. "Well, I tried wiping it out with a cloth, but then I realized that had cow's blood on it!"

"Well, why don't I go inside and get you some proper cleaning fluid and oil?" Ed suggested, keeping a smile on his face despite really wanting to frown. Garrick looked relieved at that, chuckling heartily.

"You would do that, Edward? I'd really appreciate it. I've been here an hour or so and have some orders waiting. I mean, I'd heard some rumors that your wife hadn't been in, but I didn't quite believe it."

"Yeah, it's no problem!" Ed assured him, waving his flesh hand as he walked up the steps toward his wife's shop. Garrick stepped back, allowing Al to get past, as well. Flashing another uncharacteristic smile at the man, Ed opened the door into the darkened shop before he and Al slipped inside. Taking a brief moment to make sure the door was shut and that Garrick was hanging back, Ed flicked the lights on. It took a bit of time for them to hum to life.

"That was mean, brother!" Al chided him with a slight smile.

"I didn't lie to him. I'll get him the stuff. Now quit berating me and help me out!" Ed snapped playfully. Al nodded at him and turned to look at the room. It looked clean and in order, making Ed feel, for a moment, that maybe he had misunderstood Winry's words. The place looked positively normal and organized. Some pictures were on the wall, and against a corner was an incomplete automail arm labeled, "Lizzie's. Don't touch or I'll wrench you!" That afforded Ed a chuckle and he looked to the ajar door that led to the garage.

Al was too busy shuffling through parts on a table, moving slowly to the backroom, to even notice Ed pushing the green door open. The smell of gasoline and other fluids assailed his nostrils, no doubt from the puddle of things on the ground. A roller was scattered across the empty space, turned on its side as though it had been kicked. This had certainly been where Winry was taken from; she would never be so haphazard. Listening to his heavy footsteps clamp into the garage, Ed glanced around for anything else that information could be gleaned from.

One of Winry's wrenches was resting unceremoniously on the ground and Ed bent down to pick it up. It was rather greasy, but not using his flesh hand took care of that problem. He carried it over to Winry's organized collection of tools and dropped it in place when a horrible smell wafted over to him. Clenching his fist, Ed had to keep himself from getting lightheaded and he looked over to a pile of rags. A grimace washed over his face as he realized that resting within the usual bundle was likely a rag of chloroform, though he wasn't about to take the time to find out which one had it. Instead, another and far more effective idea struck his brain.

Stumbling out of the now chemical infested garage, Ed returned to the main room of the shop. Al was nowhere to be seen, but the clattering heard from the backroom indicated his presence. Ed ignored him and went searching for the object he was looking for. It didn't take long, despite what it was placed between. Pulling the thin black book from between a photo album and an automail catalog, Ed splayed it open on the empty desk to the date in question.

The first name really came as no surprise to him, though he was unsure if it was the same as before: T. Ruth. Scowling at the plain implication that was made there, Ed decided to flick back. He was certainly glad that Winry had started keeping a record of who was coming into the shop. Especially if his theory that they had tested the waters and done reconnaissance was correct. Most of the names were local names, though a few happened to be likely wayward travelers. At least until two weeks prior, around the time the bank robberies had started to become more prevalent. That was where Ed saw a name that twisted his stomach into knots.

On the paper, in clear black ink handwriting was the name Trisha.

It couldn't have been mere coincidence; there hadn't been a Trisha around Resembool since his mother had died. That the name was there instantly spoke to something far more sinister, and began a whirlwind of speculation inside Ed's brain. Frowning, Ed took hold of the paper and ripped it out. Then he folded it and placed it in his jacket pocket. The sound was loud enough that it appeared to attract Al's attention.

"You find something, brother?" he asked, his head peeking out from the backroom.

"Maybe, but I'll tell you in a bit," Ed told him. "Did you find the stuff for Mr. Garrick? We can't keep him waiting too long."

"Yeah. Winry kept it in the backroom," Al answered, finally stepping out with the aforementioned items in hand. Ed nodded gratefully and slid the sign-in book back to its place. Al cast him a curious look at such an action, but almost immediately shrugged it off. Once he approached, Ed took the oil and cleaning fluid, and the brothers left the house, shutting the lights off and locking the door as they went.

"That took a while," Garrick said jovially as Ed handed the bottles over to him. "Longer than I thought it would, for sure."

"Took a while to find it," Ed said dismissively. "The shop was kind of a mess."

"Really? It's always so clean whenever I go there," came the butcher's surprised reply. His eyes were wide with surprise and what seemed to be just a touch of suspicion. "I can't believe Ms. Winry would keep it so-"

"You'd be surprised how messy things can get when you're in a rush!" Ed laughed off, hoping to end the conversation then and there. "You know, once she was so messy that she forgot to put a screw in my arm."

"True story. Ed's arm didn't work for days…though that might have been because-" Ed shot a glare at Al to indicate that he should shut up.

"Anyway, that should help. I know it did for me when I got some pig's blood in my leg a long time ago."

"Ah, all right, thanks Edward. Take care boys!" Ed and Al waved at him, watching him go. When he finally disappeared out of sight, Ed let out a sigh.

"Well, at least we got the chance to look at the shop," Al said. Ed couldn't deny that, but it wasn't the problem that rested on his mind. Instead it was the little piece of paper in his pocket and his brother next to him. Giving another sigh, Ed returned to his car, Al after him. Once both were seated in the car, Ed locked the doors and turned to his brother.

"Al, I need to tell you something before you can continue helping me," he said sternly, earning an inquisitive look from his brother. "You know I went to the North PD, and…well…something happened there."

"Something…?" Al asked, and Ed could hear the worried trepidation in his voice.

"Well, there was a woman there-"

"You're not cheating on Winry, are you? !" was the horrified response. Ed's mouth dropped open as he glared at his loveable, but clearly clueless, brother.

"We've been married almost twenty years, dumbass. I'm not about to cheat on her!" He resisted the urge to slap his brother, who sighed in relief. "No, look…she looked like mom. Or mom as she would look if she was older."

"Wh-what?" Al whispered, his own mouth now falling open. Ed frowned, thinking of the best way to tell him what else needed to be said.

"I don't know who she is, but I'd seen her around before," Ed continued. "At the wedding, there at the North PD, outside…Hohen…heim's…" A new thought hit Ed's brain, one that he couldn't believe he had never contemplated before. Al had recovered before he was able to piece his thoughts together.

"Brother? Brother!" Ed jerked his head up, shaking himself from the mire of his thoughts.

"Right, well, someone signed in at Winry's under the name 'Trisha' and I don't think it was some eerie coincidence. It was likely very deliberate to either foster trust or connection, or maybe just to taunt us for whatever reason." Here, Ed took another chance to sigh loudly. "That's why I wanted to tell you: to avoid any surprises. If you want to back out-"

"No, I won't," Al said defiantly. "She's not our mother, because mom died years ago. It makes me sick to think that someone's using her face and name for such heinous crimes!"

"That's so you, Al," Ed chuckled out before pulling the piece of paper from his jacket and looking at the name on it with a scowl. "I have an idea, though…I think she was involved in dad's death. She was at his place or near it when he was killed."

"It would certainly explain a lot," Al said. His face was pensive while he stared out of the windshield in what Ed presumed to be contemplation. "Maybe we should make that our next move."

"Tracking her down?" Ed asked before waving his hand to completely dismiss the notion. " _She_ found _me_ last time, and I still wasn't able to do anything without proof."

"Then we find proof at dad's home," Al illustrated for him. "If she was involved, maybe there was something we missed. Maybe there was something _she_ missed."

Ed could admit that Al had a point. The last time they'd been there had been in the early morning, where they were distraught over what had happened. Going back for a second look now that they had more to go on wasn't a bad idea. There was only one problem. "How do we get in?"

"Hmm…" Al mused aloud, fingers now tapping across the dashboard. "Why don't we ask the police. We _are_ consultants, after all."

"No way I'm calling that bastard yet!"

"Then call Detective Brosh. He _is_ in charge of the investigation, after all." Ed's typical scowl didn't drop, but he agreed with Al's logic. Begrudgingly admitting it inside, Ed took out his phone and dialed Brosh's number. It took a few rings before the man picked up.

"Edward," was the stiff response, almost like he was unhappy to hear from him. Ed was no stranger to that and easily brushed it off.

"Hey, Detective Brosh, Al and I were wondering if you could get us into our dad's place?" Ed asked, leaning back against his seat.

"Any reason why?" Ed's scowl extended further. Something about the man's voice was off, and he really didn't like it.

"We wanted a second look at the scene with some new information," he informed the man. Brosh was silent, and it slightly unnerved Ed, before he pressed on. "So, can you?"

"Yeah, that's fine. When should I meet you there?"

"We can be in Central in three hours." Brosh quickly agreed and hung up, leaving Ed to stare at his phone with a rather unattractive frown. "That was weird…"

"What was weird?" Al asked. Ed just shrugged and started his car, telling his brother to forget about it. Of course, even if he told his own brother that, it still niggled at his brain. For someone still relatively bright-eyed and bushy tailed, Brosh had sounded very cold. It was almost lifeless in the way that he had spoken. Ed had no idea what it could all be about, but it did worry him a little. Not enough to stop the car for something other than a bite to eat, but more of a nagging suspicion.

All too soon, the countryside turned into the crammed streets of Central City, with its housing complexes and skyscrapers. Ed tried to ignore the fact that the bastard of a commissioner (or so he liked to call him to make himself feel justified) was only blocks away in his office. Already it was growing dark out, the sun setting as they pulled into the University parking lot. Some students were hanging around now that their classes were done.

"If any of you touch it or say a word, I'll use my status to blitzkrieg your asses," Ed told them, noticing the all too shifty look in their eyes. They barely reacted to him, only keeping their distance, while Al shook his head and they continued along. Not much time passed before they stood outside the relatively large home. Brosh, and Brosh alone, was waiting outside. Ed raised a hand to him in greeting, but he didn't respond. The blond wrinkled his nose a little in concern, but stepped forward.

"Thanks for getting us in, detective!" he called as the brothers drew close.

"Yeah," Brosh said dully. No one else was around the house, and the sandy-blond haired detective turned to open the door, but appeared to stop. "Tell me, Edward, did you know?"  
"Know what?" Ed asked, impatience seeping into his voice.

"Did you know Commissioner Mustang killed President Dante?" Ed's stomach churned. Just the other day, Greed had warned him of this very possibility. Yet now that it was a reality… "Were you complicit in it?"

"Why do you want to know?" Ed asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. Next to him, Al was staring ahead like a deer caught in headlights. Brosh's body appeared to be heaving and Ed braced himself for the storm that he knew was coming.

"So, you did know," he said, staggering against the door like he was punched. "Ed, I…I always respected you. You were so young, but you always did perfect work."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Ed said rather brusquely, "but no one's perfect."

"Brother!" Al hissed. His whisper appeared to garner the attention of Brosh, who turned around as the doors creaked open to the empty house.

"You _both_ knew." Ed wasn't sure what to say. Had Brosh already said this to Mustang, or was he probing for information? Ed couldn't make up his mind before Brosh spoke again. "Why did you condone it? Why did you keep it a secret? You worked for the police, so how could you let Mustang get away with it?"

"Have you spoken to Mustang about this," Ed snapped. There was no point in beating around the bush regarding the issue. Better to clear up who knew what so he didn't have to tiptoe.

"I did, but he was evasive. Said it was for the greater good; that her life wasn't important-"

"All right, just stop," Ed sighed out, unable to listen to any more of Brosh's drivel and slander. "I don't know what _you_ heard, and even though I can't stand Mustang's smug face, there is no way he said someone's life wasn't important."

"If that's the case, then-"

"Brother, just tell him," Al said, his eyes finally going back to their normal size. Ed frowned at his brother, but with Brosh's intense stare, he agreed that it was for the best.

"Dante was an evil bitch," Ed answered simply. Brosh gave no reaction, so he kept going on with his little tirade. "I never liked the idea, and it drove us all apart, but I understood why Mustang did it. Archer and Dante worked _together_ ; the bitch was going to blow her country half to hell, just to get re-elected."

"Why would anyone do that? It's insane! And sounds like a lot of conspiracy theory nonsense!" Brosh challenged him. Ed stepped forward, causing the detective to step back, into the house.

"It wasn't! Seventeen years ago, Homunculus Corp was nothing more than a conspiracy and look at that! Who do you think was in charge of it? Who appointed Bradley? Who do you think gave him money? It was always Dante! Archer was just a tool to carry out her insane vision. When Mustang took him down and I was too out of it to figure out the method of disarming the bomb, he realized Dante had a second detonator. There was no time to act. What would you have done?"

"I…I…" Brosh looked confused, more than he had before, as he stumbled back further into the house, winded, as Ed advanced on him.

"We had to cover it up; something all of us agreed on," Ed insisted, stepping over the threshold of his father's house. "I didn't like it, but can you imagine how much panic there would have been at the time if everyone knew what she'd done. We had to keep it quiet or they would have won!"

"Brother, I'm pretty sure he gets it," Al spoke softly. Ed stopped at his brother's words and looked at Brosh, the man's expression downcast. He almost took pity on him, seeing the utter confusion written on his face.

"You know, being a cop is never easy," Ed decided to conclude. "Lots of sticky decisions. That's why I left. If you can't live with it, get out of the job. Just never doubt Mustang's commitment to people or this country." _Follow your own advice, Ed_ , he thought to himself savagely.

Brosh looked stunned a moment longer before taking some deep breaths and straightening himself professionally. "Thank you…for telling me. Now, you're free to examine the scene, but I'll help out; can't have you unsupervised."

"Right," Ed said shortly and he walked further into the house, noticing the untouched crime scene by both the stairs and the living room. He wasn't nearly as interested in that, considering he knew that Al would be. He wanted to know more about what could make Hohenheim a target beyond mere revenge. Ed moved towards the stairs, stopping when he heard Al speaking to Brosh.

"Detective, it was a really hard decision for all of us. I know Ed struggled with it for years, and the others haven't exactly had happy lives, either," his brother admitted. "This case feels kinda similar, too, so…don't think badly of us."

"I…I understand, Alphonse," Brosh finally exhaled, appearing to be resigned, if still confused. Breathing in, himself, Ed proceeded up the stairs. Once he reached the top, he looked over and saw that Al, as expected, was heading for the living room while Brosh left the foyer to investigate the kitchen. Tapping the banister lightly, Ed walked along.

The first thing that he passed were the multiple bedrooms, hardly furnished save for one that had some photos. Ed realized with a pang that they were pictures of the family; pictures that held little real meaning anymore. Shaking his head, he moved to the slightly ajar door at the end of the hallway. Once he reached it, he pushed the door open with another creak to find himself in a home office.

"Real tidy, dad," he muttered to himself at the sight of stacks of paper files. For living in the age of computers, there was a lot of printed crap in the room. Navigating the stacks, Ed checked over the elegant oak desk. There were a few forms for school-related activities there, and even a letter from Lucas that had been an assignment at school. Frowning at the lack of evidence for _anything_ , Ed turned around, only for his foot to snag on a stack and send it tumbling. "Oh, come on…"

Sighing, Ed crouched low and began to re-stack the folders, though not necessarily in the order they had been there. Some papers began to slip out, only to be unceremoniously shoved back in. Ed hardly looked at them until a title on one of them nabbed his attention:

ATHER ELECTED TO SENATE: YOUNGEST SINCE DANTE

Interest piqued, Ed went looking for the folder from which the article had come. It didn't take too long, but he was utterly surprised by the thickness of it. A loud noise was heard below, but Ed ignored it in favor of the file. There were numerous articles, some old and some new; printed in a newspaper or off the internet. More importantly, they all had a very common theme: Dante and Ather.

Some of them were just detailing the family's meteoric rise to power, but some others were from less…official sites. Well, they seemed more like conspiracy theory stuff, but Hohenheim had written notes all over them, and even the articles that talked about recent bills passed by Ather. Had his father actually known the whole time of Ather's connection to him? Or was it all mere coincidence? Flicking through, the notes grew more interesting, speaking of bribes made and other illicit activities performed by the family. Of particular interest was the kinds of notes that read "see packet, page 34, section 3". Ed looked around, and through the stacks, but couldn't find any packet. It made sense a moment later when he found an invoice for a private investigator in the back of the file. The name was illegibly smudged, but the option for having the "packet" delivered via encrypted e-mail was checked. The code was marked next to it, but with little else to go off of, Ed could only think of the possibilities of where this "packet" could be. Drawing out of the room, Ed made sure all the files were in the folder, so he didn't miss anything.

The smell of the invoice came to him strongly as he made sure it was at the top. His nose wrinkled a little, trying to place the familiar scent until he noticed it as that of old wood polish. Filing the fact away in his brain for later, Ed tucked the folder into his jacket and proceeded down the stairs. The front door banged across the wall, having obviously been left open from when they'd entered. Ed frowned again and moved to close it. As he did, a loud sound came from the living room, like furniture knocking over. Wondering just what his brother could be doing, he made his way over.

"Hey, Al, you find anyth-" Ed's voice died and his pupils contracted. Al had been the one making the noise, but it wasn't out of investigation. Someone else was in the room with him, standing next to a fallen chair while holding a knife to his brother's throat. The face was all too recognizable. "Ah, damn it, Al! You were fooled by her wearing mom's face, weren't you?"

"So…rry…broth…er…" Al managed to croak out with his restricted airflow. Ed's lips twisted into a sneer. He couldn't really blame his brother for being trapped in the trick. Even he had been stunned when first seeing Sloth wearing the face of his mother.

"How did you get in here?" Ed demanded. He wasn't even going to bother asking her to release his brother, since that was clearly off the table.

"You left the door open, Edward," Sloth replied with twisted lips.

"You've been following me. What? Did you seduce the butcher or something?" Ed snapped. Her smile widened. She didn't answer, though; his guess could have been right, but Ed figured there was a more logical explanation. Father seemed to have control over the intelligence community, after all.

"Hand over your evidence," Sloth now insisted, her voice cold.

"What evidence?" Ed asked defiantly, drawing his coat around himself. His eyes flitted around the room, trying to find a way to distract Sloth, but found nothing. It was silent.

"Come now, Edward, you and your father were intelligent men; I'm certain you found something important," came further insistence. Ed looked at Al, who was turning purple, the knife pressing against his neck. "Hand it over, or your brother dies."

"Like you'd kill Al," Ed scoffed. "I'm a witness, and I could take you down. You wouldn't risk Father's plan for something as flimsy as potential evidence."

"Who says I'd be risking it?" Sloth pointed out. Ed scowled, noticing only the shadows moving in the room. He thought he'd caught sight of a quick one, but was unable to give it much of a look as it disappeared behind the couch. "All I'd have to do is plant some DNA to frame you."

"Like that's gonna work, lady," Ed snapped. He focused on his brother and Sloth, noticing that something was coming up behind them. "You know how many times I've been framed? Always walked away from it."

"Not this time. Hand it-" Her words cut out, and she slumped before letting go of Al and falling to the floor, unconscious. Al began to cough and splutter as Brosh, who had clearly hit her from behind, pocketed his gun. He looked down at the woman as Ed ran to Al and checked him over.

"She looks like you guys…" Brosh pointed out in amazement. Ed rolled his eyes, but made sure that Al was okay. "What do we do now? Is she a suspect?"

"What do you think, _detective_?" Ed asked of him irritably. He didn't like this situation one bit, but he also knew what needed to be done. Scowling with displeasure, Ed dug into his pants' pocket to pull out his phone. "Time to ask Commissioner Charcoal for help."

* * *

 **Author's Note: And so Sloth is captured at last. Beyond that, a lot of this was finding little clues, but some of them may lead to some major ones. Such as why Hohenheim hired a private investigator and just who he hired. We'll find these things out sooner than later, because we're starting to come to a close on this story. Until we do, though, I ask that you all stay with me, Review, and Dare to Be Silly.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Boy, I am really running out of things to say here as we start winding down…Time for Chapter 14!**

* * *

Chapter 14

"I'm surprised you called me, Fullmetal," were the first words out of Mustang's mouth when pulling up outside of Hohenheim's residence. Ed was leaning against the side of the double doors, only one open. Inside the veritable manor there were no lights on, despite the darkening outside. The car door slammed and the commissioner looked over at Riza, her arms at her side in a ready and alert stance. She looked at him, as if to indicate that she would keep watch, and he nodded, striding back towards the surly form that was Ed's.

"I wouldn't have," the blond snapped at him, but Roy could tell it wasn't filled with the same rage that he had held earlier. "But I trust you more than most, especially with stuff like this."

"I'm flattered," he responded almost mockingly, with a hand on his chest. Ed scowled liberally at him, causing Mustang to drop the act and get serious. "Now, what's going on and why here?"

Ed surveyed him a moment longer in the growing dark and then jerked his head to indicate that he should follow. Roy did so, making sure that Hawkeye was posted at the door. Receiving her confirming nod, the commissioner strode after Ed in the dark house to where the only source of light was: stairs that led down to a wine cellar. Ed said nothing more, just opening the door to let them both in and then closing it with a snap. It made the light all the more prominent, and they continued downward into the cellar.

They reached the bottom in no time and Roy found himself face to face with a wholly unexpected sight. There was a chair in the middle of the cellar, a bulb of light hanging over it. Seated on that chair was a woman; a familiar woman with chestnut hair, unconscious but breathing. Standing off to the side of her were Al and Brosh, both relatively silent. Mustang turned to Ed with numerous questions on his lips.

"Sloth," Ed said before he could ask a single one. "We came here looking for a different reason that dad could have been killed, because I remembered this woman being there on the night of his murder."

"Did you find anything?" was the first question out of his mouth. He watched as Ed reached into his coat and pulled out a folder.

"Dad was keeping track on Dante and Ather. Hired a private investigator," Ed answered him. Mustang took the papers and flicked through them, his frown becoming increasingly more evident. "He got it sent to an encrypted e-mail, but I can't hack that kind of stuff, and after looking through, I found some kind of code. Al could probably figure it out, but he's too distracted by our fake mother here."

"Then why don't I take her off your hands? Or at least get some information out of her," Mustang said, a smirk now stretching his face. Ed raised an eyebrow, but the commissioner turned to Brosh. "Will you be all right with that, Brosh?"

Brosh, shifting in the shadows at the edge of the cellar, stepped forward into the light. He had lost some of the confusion in his eyes; Roy could tell. "I'm still trying to understand, commissioner, but…I'm willing to do what needs to be done in order to solve this case."

"Glad to hear it," Mustang responded and he turned to the prone form of Sloth. It was extremely fortuitous. Just as he'd decided that he needed to interrogate a sin, Sloth fell into his lap. Handing the papers back over to Ed, Roy approached the chair venomously. "Wake up!"

Sloth was unresponsive a moment, and Roy scowled. He knew his next move wouldn't be received well, but without hesitation, he slapped her across the face. Al recoiled, but the target of their interrogation stirred. "Ugh…"

"About time," Mustang growled out. That instantly seemed to garner Sloth's attention, because she bolted upright and strained against her bindings. "I don't think there's any getting out of this one."

"I'm rather surprised to see you here, commissioner," Sloth drawled out, clearly trying to not betray anything. "Last I heard, you and Edward were on the out."

"Don't believe everything you hear," he told her, even if that part _was_ true. Mustang leaned forward, close to her face. "Now, answer all my questions and I might let you go."

He got his answer quickly enough when she all too rapidly spat on his face. He hardly reacted and just moved to wipe off the saliva while Ed scoffed near him. "Mustang, I don't think nice questions are going to get you the answers you're looking for."

"Brother…" Al said warningly. Mustang held a hand up.

"No, Alphonse, your brother is right. A lighter touch isn't going to cut it," the commissioner responded, and he fished into his pocket, dragging out his age-old lighter. After clicking it a few times, he was finally able to produce a flame. Without any hesitation, he held the flame close to Sloth's face and she recoiled. Her face looked almost odd under the heat. "Tell me what I want to know, or we'll use a different, lighter approach; one that might hurt."

"As if you would," Sloth chuckled out. "Don't you have your precious job to protect? Doing something so heinous would be counteractive to that."

"Like I give a damn. Besides, Father isn't here to save you."

"It isn't in your moral code," Sloth responded tauntingly. Mustang pulled back, drawing the lighter away. "You're the pure Commissioner Mustang. Torturing me is against your morals."

"Is _that_ what you think?" Mustang asked with a little smirk. "Edward, Alphonse, do you think there's anything going on here that shouldn't?"

"Not at all," Ed answered immediately. Al looked to give a little pause, but eventually he shook his head to indicate that he would accept whatever it was. Roy turned to Brosh, giving him another insistent look. The detective sighed.

"Just don't take it _too_ far, sir," was the sandy blond's response. Glad that he had the man's approval, Mustang turned back to Sloth with a cold expression. He clicked the lighter again and moved it close once more.

"Tell me, Sloth, what is Father's plan? How do we put a stop to this?" he asked. Sloth refused to answer. Sighing with a sense of resignation, Roy reached forward and grabbed her hand. There was little hesitation in his movements as he brought the lighter to her hand and began to burn at one of her fingers. She didn't scream, but the commissioner could tell she was in pain.

"You know…there's only one way…" she finally gasped out. "You have to lose…"

"Ask a different question, Mustang," Ed said angrily. "Where's my family? What did that bastard Truth or Wrath or whatever he's called do with them? !"

"Don't you talk about him that way!" Sloth snapped angrily. Roy drew back, flicking the lighter closed, watching the woman for a moment. Her hand was pulsing with the burn.

"What's your relation to him?" Roy chose to ask, realizing that the topic was very likely a sore subject with the woman. She didn't answer, choosing again to glare at him. Ed took a step forward, coming to Roy's side. He leaned in towards him to whisper.

"I get the feeling he's her son or something," Ed told him. Mustang frowned in thought at the piece of information. "She also looks like our mother. I don't think I told you that."

This piece of information caused Roy's eyebrows to arch. To most, that statement would bring up more and more questions than before. But for him, things had been made a little clearer. The picture that Brosh had given him suddenly made all kinds of sense. As he thought, Mustang continually flicked the lighter open and shut. The woman was clearly hardened against interrogation and torture; Father had clearly taught her how to resist those sorts of things very well. Regardless, he felt he still had one more use for the lighter, so he flicked it on again.

"What was your intention to look like Trisha Elric?" Roy asked again, his tone calm and flat. The lighter drew ever closer to Sloth's face. She swallowed and recoiled, but refused to answer. Mustang didn't stop. Alphonse turned away as the flame finally licked at her face. There wasn't much change, but Mustang's own theory was quickly proven correct when part of her face sagged just a little. He chuckled. "For all of Father's wealth, he couldn't afford to get you a better plastic surgery job? Or did you go to one of those back-alley specialists?"

"You always act so smug, the both of you. No wonder my children can't stand you," Sloth finally said as Roy pulled and stowed the lighter away. He smirked at her. For a woman trained to resist interrogation, she certainly had the tendency to let information slip.

"I remember you mentioning your children before, but you were rather coy about it," Mustang commented. He nodded his head. "Now I believe I have the full measure of you."

"You don't understand a thing," she spat at him. He regarded her with a sense of amusement, stepping back towards Ed while Sloth struggled upon her chair, as though attempting to break free.

"Well, now we know how she looks like your mother," Mustang mumbled out to Ed. The blond nodded, his jaw locked uncomfortably. "She won't answer, but I'd presume it was all for this kind of psychological effect."

"I don't give a damn about that. There's more she's not telling us," Ed commented angrily. Roy inclined his head, agreeing with the statement. He lightly scratched the back of his head as he tried to think of another subject to tackle. Casting his gaze over her, now that he knew her secret, he began to see the imperfections in Sloth's skin…and the similarities to another.

"You keep speaking of your children," he began, though Sloth refused to look at him. "Ather is considered as 'Father', so I wonder: does that make you Mother? You must be far too old in relation to his moniker, but I'd imagine that both he and Wrath look at you as a mother of sorts. Any particular reason why?"

"Like someone such as you could ever understand."

"You're the foster mother," Brosh breathed out. "It would be the only thing that makes sense."

"From the orphanage?" Ed asked incredulously. Brosh nodded.,

"I don't know much about what's going on, but in my investigation for your father's death, I came across an old orphanage photo. _She_ must have been the head."

"Of course…" Mustang breathed, feeling foolish for having not seen it beforehand. "Your 'children' are Wrath and Ather and all of those kids at the orphanage. You were probably good friends with Dante, no doubt."

"Hohenheim must've figured it out," Ed commented, folding his arms with a clank. "She visited him to see if he knew anything about Ather."

"Dad must've recognized her as mom right away," Al finally piped in. "That was her mistake, because mom's been dead so long. He had to have known something weird was going on-"

"-and he looked into it," Ed concluded. "That's the _real_ reason you killed him, isn't it?"

"Looks like we found your murderer," Mustang told Brosh. The younger man looked focused and hard regarding the revelation. He didn't say anything, prompting a return of attention to Sloth.

"You boys think you have it all figured out, don't you?" Sloth said, jostling the chair once more. It tipped a little, but didn't fall.

"Tell us what we're missing, then," Mustang said warningly. "We know you must have been the one to kill Hohenheim using the Red Water you'd gotten from Father and the Intelligence Agency. Those ties alone give us more than enough to go on and you haven't even said a thing. Imagine how much faster this would go if you did."

"As if I'd _ever_ betray my family."

"Nor would I betray mine," Mustang snarled out. At this, Sloth stopped moving and stared at him in fear. All of the others in the cellar were staring at him, too, with a myriad of expressions. Ed, in particular, looked almost shocked and shameful. "You're trying to drive me into a corner, but I won't let you. I may have let Wrath go, but in this moment, it was worth it. I don't think he's been trusted with as many details as you. Now, talk. Or I'll blow out your kneecaps.

"I'm not letting you get away, and I'll do whatever it takes to find the Elric family."

Hushed silence pervaded the cellar at Mustang's declaration. He had to wonder if Ed doubted him anymore, despite the sincerity in his words. In order to further prove his point, Roy took out his gun and placed it against one of Sloth's knees. Turning his head a little, the commissioner could see that Al was still refusing to watch, while Brosh was clutching at his coat. Somehow, he thought that he could see the sandy blond nod in resigned approval. Sloth glared at him continually.

"What is the Philosopher's Stone project and how does it factor into Father's plan?"

"Go to he-"

 _Bang!_ There was no remorse or hesitation as Roy fired his gun. Sloth screamed, the chair tumbling over. Blood came from the knee, but Sloth could do nothing to bind it. She wheezed as Mustang knelt down to her level. "The Philosopher's Stone."

"I thought…you knew…all that…" she said through gritted teeth of pain. Surveying her coldly, Roy shrugged and placed it at her other knee. He knew how dangerous this was, and how it would look, but with his patience wearing thin, there was nothing to do but everything he could. "Okay! It's a nuclear project!"

The veneer of her Trisha persona broke, revealing a panicked, yet composed, woman underneath. "Go on. Tell me everything."

"Diverting money…from various agencies," Sloth elaborated, though Mustang still didn't take the gun away. "Multiple nuclear weapons that can be fired at once. They plan to strike as soon as the STONE Bill is ratified."

"Where? And when does Ather plan on pushing the vote up to?" He pushed harder with the gun to press the issue.

"The borders of Amestris with our other countries. They vote on Friday."

"That's tomorrow," Al said fearfully. Roy finally drew back, the answers at last confirming themselves and piecing together in his head. There was very little left to figure out. Ed also seemed to understand the implications of everything going on, judging by the sickened look upon his face. Roy kept his own face impassive, but could share Ed's sentiments.

"I knew Ather was going to try and push the vote up," Mustang said with a snarl. "It might not work, but the very threat of what they're planning to do…it's like Archer all over again."

"They want to force your hand," Ed concurred. "Beyond sick…Hey, Sloth, where the hell is my family? What happens to them when this plan goes off?"

"I'm not involved in that," she said. Mustang watched her face as she said it; she may have had a scowl on, but the corners of her lips were far more telling, twitching upward. She might not have been involved, but there was no doubt that she and the others knew. Roy took a step forward, prepared to interrogate her again. Only a sharp, shrill ringing filled the cellar.

Sloth's eyes shot wide open and she suddenly began to roll the chair back and forth violently, slightly loosening the restraints. The commissioner walked forward, hoping to stabilize her, but was too late at the sound of a crunching noise that ended the ringing. She was breathing heavily, but smiling, as though proud to have disposed of whatever evidence could be used against Father. As she rolled back, Roy noticed that her arms were free, and something rolled out of one of her pockets. Mustang stared at it curiously for just a second before diving.

He wasn't the only one. Alongside him was Ed, reaching for the little blue capsule. Sloth, having the closest proximity, reached it first. With an all too twisted smile, she popped the capsule into her mouth and chomped. It was over very quickly. Sloth began to convulse, saliva foaming in her mouth. It was a horrific sight, but Mustang endeavored to watch until the very end. A small clanking next to him told him that Ed was shaking his fist. Sloth gave one last shuddering breath and then came to stop.

With the event over, Roy stepped forward and bent down, reaching into the pocket of her pantsuit to pull out the phone that had been ringing. He stepped back to allow Al the chance to examine the body. He didn't need a doctor's words to know that Sloth had died from cyanide poisoning. Instead, he looked at the cellphone, cracked and broken. That brought a frown to his face. If he had Feury around, he could potentially fix it, but as it was…

"No number, then, huh?" Ed asked with a surly expression.

"No. But I'm pretty sure that we both know who was calling," Mustang told him. Ed nodded; it could only have been either Father or Wrath. Roy was unsure which, but he was willing to bet on the former given Sloth's rather extreme reaction. Regardless, it left a bad taste in his mouth as Brosh stepped forward.

"Sir," he said, his voice all too tentative, "what exactly is going on? I'm-"

"I'm sorry, Brosh," Mustang said sharply. "None of us intended for anyone but ourselves to deal with this or even learn of it. I'm sorry if the secrets that have come to light have made you lose faith in the good that we do. But right now, people's lives are in the balance, and we can't be hindered."

"The Elric family?" Brosh asked solemnly. Ed's fist clenched, but Roy nodded sharply. "I'm still confused, and don't fully understand what happened to make all of you do those things, but…I can see how sometimes you don't have a choice. Or, maybe, you have to choose between two very bad options. It helps me to understand you, sir."

"What are you saying, Brosh?" Mustang asked cautiously, hoping to perceive his intentions.

"I'm saying that I'm willing to follow your orders, sir." Mustang breathed in a sigh of relief; it may have just been a temporary patch, but obtaining another ally to help was always a good thing. He gave a quick nod to the detective as Al stood and joined them.

"All right, let's review what we know."

"She's dead," Ed stated, waving over at Sloth. Roy rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I can see that, Fullmetal."

"No duh, Commissioner Charcoal, but that's not my point," Ed told him. "She's the fourth of our returning sins to die, right? All we have left is Wrath, Greed, and Envy."

"Maybe Father's trying to systematically kill them off," Al pointed out. It was certainly a good theory, though Roy felt it needed to be elaborated on more.

"Possible, but we all need to remember that he's doing this to get revenge on me for sixteen years ago," he chose to remind everybody. "The similar murders of people and now this Archer-esque strategy? I wouldn't put it past him to use that event in more ways than one. Not only does it force me to choose between country and family, but he can use it to convince others to fully fleece the department. Bastard…

"Yeah, well, you're not alone in this. Even if you can't, as long as we get ourselves on the right path, then I'll rescue my own family," Ed said with determination.

"But we still need to find them, and she didn't help us," Al said, indicating Sloth.

"What about the other kids at the orphanage?" Brosh pointed out. The other three men in the room stared at him. "There has to be more connection."

"Of course…" Ed breathed. Al took the picture out and in the dim lighting of the cellar, Roy could look at the picture and to where Ed was pointing. There rested a face that was very familiar. "Lyra."

"Makes sense," Mustang exhaled. "She's the head of the Agency; him, the committee. Makes all kinds of sense to me, except for…" Roy's mind sidetracked. There was a leak at the Agency, feeding information to get STONE shut down. Was it possible that Lyra had turned on Father in order to leak that information? Or had it all been a trap on Father's part? Either way, there was no doubt that Lyra was mixed up in all of this. As he thought back, her actions began to make total sense. Her warnings and hints…It had been all too possible that Lyra had gotten cold feet. Surreptitiously leaking information to Lowe and then taking more overt steps by warning him and getting Drake to do her dirty work. And if four of the seven sins were dead…

"Lyra's next on the list either way," Roy confided to his companions. "That means we need to find the last of the seven sins. Brosh, tell Armstrong everything that's going on. After that, look into that orphanage and find any connection; anyone who donated money or clothes. When that's done, call the both of us so we know what's going on."

"I'll see what I can find," Brosh said confidently, turning around and heading for the stairs. He stopped a moment. "And, sir…"

"Just do what needs to be done," Mustang said sternly. That put an end to it, and Brosh left the cellar. Once he had, Roy turned to the two brothers. "What's your next move?"

"This," Ed said, pulling the file folder from his jacket. "Since dad was looking into Father, he must have dug up all sorts of info, but considering he had it sent via encrypted e-mail to who knows where…Well, none of the documents say. They also don't give the code, so I'm thinking of checking the one place dad would keep those things: safety deposit box."

"At the Bank of Amestria?" Roy asked, all too interested. Ed's eyes narrowed at him.

"Yeah, dad cosigned us years ago…Why?"

"Because our good friend Wrath and the hostages he killed were trying to access those boxes. They must have been looking for the file on Ather, thinking your father had it there. Was his box tossed?"

"No idea," was Al's answer. "All the stuff with his death happened before then. Maybe they interrogated him when they couldn't get the information they wanted."

"Makes sense to me," Mustang concluded. "The reversal here is ironic…I plan to go talk to Lyra to find out about your family and you're looking for the information to take down Ather."

"Guess we're working together again," Ed said with a disgruntled shrug. "Though, I don't know how you expect us to get into the bank at night."

Mustang smirked at Ed's worries, reaching for a memo pad and scrawling a number on it. He ripped off the paper, and handed it out like a handshake. Ed smirked back, and instead of clasping the man's hand, he gave it a light high five, nabbing the paper. "That's the bank president. Drop my name and he'll get you in. Just…don't die, Fullmetal. Wouldn't want to fill out the paperwork and all that."

"Yeah, whatever, Fire Hazard, you too," Ed waved, the paper fluttering between his fingers. He turned his back on the man and the brothers began to leave the cellar, Al offering a slight bow. As they ascended the stairs from the cellar, Roy looked down on Sloth a moment. Frowning, Mustang debated what to do with the woman's body. He soon came to a risky decision and moved her body to rest against a wall. She was an issue he couldn't deal with right now. Mustang left the cellar, closing the door as he did.

It was dark outside, now, and with no lights on inside, it made the estate appear to be a black hole, with only the ajar door serving as a source of illumination. Hawkeye was still waiting stoically outside it, hands behind her back. She looked up at him as he approached. "Detective Brosh has informed me of the state of things."

"That makes things simpler," Mustang replied, taking his phone out and dialing Lyra's office number. Hawkeye came in step with his stride while the phone rang. Eventually, a receptionist picked up. "Ah, Cynthia, is the director still in?"

"I'm afraid not, Commissioner," the woman spoke. "I believe she had dinner plans at her house with Senator Ather this evening."

"Shit," Mustang blurted out involuntarily. The woman on the other end said nothing, so he uttered a hasty thanks and hung up. "You drive, Riza. We need to get to Lyra's residence."

"On it, sir," Hawkeye responded efficiently. She caught the keys that he had tossed to her deftly, and easily slid in behind the wheel. He barely had time to slip into his seat before she shot off. It was obvious that she knew where they were going, which was easy given their knowledge regarding most prominent people. As she weaved and swerved through evening traffic, Roy dialed Lyra's security. There was no answer. "What do you feel could be going on?"

"Nothing good," came his response. "Sloth got a call that she didn't answer. Ather might know we had her. I also suspect Lyra's been leaking information about his activities for some time now. If he knows this…"

She sped up, flicking the siren on to ensure an easy path through the streets. It wasn't far of a drive, but Roy had the sickening feeling that every second counted. Soon, her house on a nice plot of land rolled into view. A large car was sitting outside. Riza made certain to stop out of view so they could get out of the car unseen, firearms in their hands.

The windows of the car were tinted, but Mustang could see someone inside. He signaled for Hawkeye to go around the other side as he approached the driver's seat. The window was open and Mustang sprung out, holding his gun on the driver. "Where is he?"

"C-commissioner Mustang!"

"Hands up," Hawkeye ordered coldly from the other window. The driver held his hands up, his gaze furtive between the two. "Answer the question."

"Inside with the director," the driver answered. "He's running a little late."

"Of course he is," Mustang expressed. "Hawkeye, secure the perimeter. I'll see to Lyra." She rapidly acquiesced, but it was obvious to both of them that they wished they had more people. Drawing away, Mustang retreated from the car and followed Hawkeye onto the grounds. She diverted course, but he kept going for the door, wondering if the driver was calling Ather at that very moment.

There was no security at the door, having either been dismissed or the grisly alternative. In either case, the door to Lyra's foyer was ajar. He kicked it open with little care and burst in, gun forward. His head swirled from side to side, looking for them, when he heard the crackling of a fire. Mustang's feet instantly moved in that direction. Its sound grew louder when he finally reached a small den. As he knew well enough, Lyra was a woman of fine taste, exhibited in her lavish decorations from the walls to the very chairs that were slightly facing the fireplace. Their occupants were far too visible.

"Lyra, I think your security is lacking," was the first thing he said. The woman in question slowly turned her head, lips pursed.

"I wasn't aware I had a need of them," she responded tersely. Mustang kept his gun at his side, but flicked his gaze over to Ather, who was lightly sipping on some tea. "Why are you here, Mustang?"

"Questions to be asked," Mustang said, his body tensing a little. "For both of you. We have Sloth."

Ather gave no reaction at first, but Mustang's own theory was proven by Lyra, unable to stop her eyes from widening. That said everything that needed to be. Father finished sipping his tea and placed his cup down almost daintily. "Well played. Though, I was aware the second she didn't answer the phone."

"I figured you would be. Your numbers must be dwindling." Father shifted in his chair a bit and Roy watched him like a hawk for any dangerous movement. "I guess not everything goes according to plan."

"Doesn't it, though?" Father sighed out. There was a subtle shift in his tone; he now sounded rather angry. "Sloth, Kimblee, Gluttony, Lust…every single one of them is dead, as anticipated. You've played the game better than expected, managing to subvert some expectations, but you've still done nothing but bring in a loss. I wonder, how can you expect to be a good commissioner when your own people don't even trust you or believe in you?"

"I wouldn't underestimate my chances," Mustang responded with a smirk. "After all, I doubt you expected one of your own people to talk and leak information."

"You're right; I didn't. That's why I'm counting the game null and void," Ather said. He suddenly scraped his chair against the hardwood floors and when he finished, he was holding a gun, aimed at Lyra. "So, let's have one last round before I go to bring this game to its conclusion. The Elric family? Or Lyra, here?"

"What? !" Lyra screeched, but made no movement at the gun trained on her. Mustang's smirk turned to a scowl as he looked around the room for any way out of this, noticing nothing but pictures and decorations. Ather gave no response, causing Lyra to scoff. "Is it any wonder I went against your insane plan?"

"So, you _are_ Lowe's informant? Why?" Mustang asked, now bringing his gun up and holding it on the senator.

"Because I'm his foster sister, and I shared some of his ideas for revenge. Dante treated us fairly, about the only fairness we got from the world," Lyra confirmed. "It was when he started going on about blowing things up to get back at you that I drew a line. I'm surprised Wrath and Greed are still seeing this through to the end."

"Oh, Greed's pulling out, so I'll take care of him once I'm done here," Father told them callously. "He's been wanting out since Detective Havoc got shot, and he's useless to me now. Wrath still has his uses, and his motives. Now, I'm tired of this banter. Choose already, Mustang."

"I'll choose _you_ ," Mustang snarled, making sure to aim right at Father's head. The blond sighed, and then pulled the trigger.

Mustang fired as Lyra slumped in her chair, tumbling to the ground with blood pooling from her chest. Father dodged to the side and the bullet nicked his shoulder, splashing blood across the chair. The commissioner tried to follow him out, but the wheezing gasps from Lyra advised him of his immediate concern.

Harsh footsteps were heard through the halls as Roy dialed for an ambulance. He reached Lyra's side and ripped his jacket off, pressing it to the wound. She seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness, but she managed to breathe a few words. "El…rics…"

"Where?" he demanded. "Where is the Elric family? Tell me, Lyra!"

She didn't say a word, but instead she raised a bloodied finger towards a photo. It was a familiar one, of a younger time. Riza's own steps were now heard and he turned to her with wild eyes. "Call Fullmetal. His family's at the old orphanage in East City.

* * *

 **Author's Note: So, if it isn't obvious, we're pretty close to the end of the story here. Lots of revelations remain, and if you squint hard enough you can already guess at the other Greed's identity. This was very dialogue focused and revealed pretty much everything about Father's plan in the long run, so I hope you enjoyed. That's all for now, so until next time, please do Review and Dare to Be Silly.**


	15. Chapter 15

**We're getting pretty close here…hard to believe we're almost at the end. Oh well, please enjoy Chapter 15!**

* * *

Chapter 15

In some part, Ed _hated_ accepting favors from Mustang. After all, the two had had quite the querulous relationship over the years; one felt no more distinctly than it had the last few days since his family had been kidnapped. Now, however, was going to change all that. Standing in that room, looking at just how far Mustang was willing to go, made the older Elric brother realize just how foolishly stubborn he was being. It was the reason he'd taken the number without hesitation and was now waiting outside the Bank of Amestria while the bedraggled president of the bank fumbled with his keys.

"This _is_ a most unorthodox request," the man yawned out. "If it weren't for Commissioner Mustang's request and the fact that you're visiting your father's box, I wouldn't even-"

"Yeah, great," Ed snapped irritably. He may no longer have been fighting with Mustang, but it didn't mean his mood had improved whatsoever. "Can we hurry this along? No real time to wait."

"Brother…" Al chastised him. The president threw him a dirty look, but continued to unlock the door into the bank and safely shut off the alarm. The brothers bustled in after him. Once more, the bank president gave off a big yawn as the three proceeded to the vault where the safety deposit boxes were.

"Is there any particular thing you're looking for?" the president asked as he came off of his yawning.

"Hopefully, we'll know it when we see it," Ed responded, surreptitiously patting at the packet concealed behind his jacket. Al fell in step beside his frantic, yet constrained, pace.

"Do you know if anything was missing from our father's box?" he asked aloud. The president turned his head back to them with a thoughtful look.

"I was not made aware of the contents of Van Hohenheim's box," the man answered back. "As I'm sure you're well aware, discretion is our most vital policy."

"And you didn't get around to checking all the boxes, right?" Ed asked with a slight leer.

"Erm…yes, that has been the case as well," the president admitted as they finished approaching the vault in the dimly lit bank. While the president made to open the vault, Al pulled out a key ring, the safety deposit box key hanging from it. After a moment, and an input of a security code, the vault door swung open, allowing the three of them inside. Al appeared to know just where they were going because he quickly located the rather large Box 503 and placed his key in. The president did the same and they opened it up.

Even before opening the box itself, Ed could tell that it, like so many of the others here, had been accessed. There appeared to be scuff marks around the edges of the box, and most particularly there were score marks on the metal where the lid met the box itself. Al moved to open it while the bank president retreated, but Ed saved him the trouble and merely flipped it open, further sign of its tampering. This was proved all the more by the contents of the box, which were haphazardly tossed about.

"Guess we'll have to dig through it," Al sighed out tiredly. Ed didn't particularly care for the sound of that, but kneeled down next to it and dug in nonetheless. It didn't take long for him to find a list detailing the contents of the box, dated a little less than a month ago. With a scowl, he handed it off to Al and they began to quickly check through all the contents of the box. Father really had been one crafty bastard; hiring thieves from some no-name group to break in and steal specific contents yet make it look like general robbery. Then send in Wrath to silence them, obtain the info and discredit the police all at the same time. It was a brilliant play…if they had found what they were looking for.

"So, what's missing, Al?" Ed asked once they seemed to have finished sorting everything.

"Just a few items," Al answered, stroking his chin as he looked over everything one more time. "Some title documents, what looks like some old jewelry of mom's, and a flash drive."

"The flash drive was probably what they were really after," Ed noted, folding his arms with a surly expression. "Do you know where dad kept the list for the box?"

"Bottom…I think?" Al answered uncertainly, once more handing the list over to Ed. The older brother looked it over and noticed that on the list, printed in black and white, were the contents of the missing flash drive: "faculty records". Ed couldn't help it and he threw back his head to let off a raucous laugh. Either the thieves lacked basic reading comprehension skills or were just stupid, because the flash drive was most certainly _not_ what they had been looking for. Al waited for Ed's laughs to subside before saying any more. "There was this envelope in there, too, but it's not on dad's list."

"I would say it could have been from the thieves or Wrath," Ed began to comment, "but somehow, I don't think either of them are smart enough to receive that kind of credit."

"You're always so insulting, brother," Al said with a smile as he flicked the letter over to Ed, who nimbly caught it. In seconds, he was tearing it open, making sure to not destroy the contents (easier said than done with his automail hand). Thankfully, it didn't take too long and he had the letter unfolded, or whatever it was. Al scooted over, noting the contents of the page presented to them.

"It's gibberish!" Ed proclaimed in exasperation. On the letter seemed to be ridiculous words and numbers, reading like an alien wrote it. Until that second, Ed thought he'd had an idea of what was inside it, but now he almost had to question his father's sanity. Al gingerly took the note from him and looked it over.

"It's not gibberish…" Al said, his face lighting up with almost childish glee. "It's a code!"

"Seriously?" Ed blurted out, but stopped at the scathing look from his brother. Taking a closer look at the rather odd letter, he could now begin to see patterns emerging. "All right, maybe…but if it's in code, it has to do with what we're looking for. Otherwise, it wouldn't make sense. Think you can crack it?"

"Come on, Ed! Of course, I can. Just give me a little bit," Al turned away to inspect the contents. Ed, meanwhile, pulled out the file in his jacket, hoping to find any connection. Mostly, it was just the same old newspaper clippings, but just like before, any reference to other documents was lost on him. He was so _close_ …So close to discovering whatever it was that his father had truly been killed for. Thumbing through, Ed found the same old receipt that he'd seen before with its own set of code…namely that of being illegible.

"Come on, you papery bastard, tell me something," Ed snarled under his breath while he glared at the offending piece. On impulse, he lifted the paper to the dim ceiling lights and scowled at it, desperately hoping for it to reveal its secrets. In the background, Al was murmuring with a pencil between his teeth.

Ed's eyes narrowed as he peered viciously at the paper. It still wasn't giving him anything. To his sudden surprise, a clock chimed through the bank, indicating its all too late hour. Stifling a yawn, Ed went right back to glaring at the paper for no other reason than to do so. In his slightly sleep-deprived state, Ed found his thoughts all blurring together in a haze. What was once a smudge now looked like a butterfly, set to take flight and lead him somewhere. Illegibility suddenly started to become legible in places, making him wonder if the redacted nature was a mere accident or completely on purpose.

"Ash…Ingh…sounds either Cretan or from a province of Xing…" he mumbled, almost completely convinced that his brain had gone full on delusional. There could not have been a person with the name Ash Ingh that was a private investigator his father would hire. Conceding that it was now entirely useless, Ed prepared to ball the paper up and toss it. That was when it all happened to click. "Holy shit…"

"What's wrong, brother?" Al asked, looking up from his own work to do so. He didn't answer his brother, the gravity of what he'd just discovered hitting him like a sack of bricks.

"In a minute," Ed finally told him once he'd had the opportunity to run a hand through his hair. Al shrugged and went back to his work. In the meanwhile, Ed dug out his phone, pulling up any online service that was the fastest. His fingers worked as quickly as they possibly could to find the information he was looking for. His eyes widened upon finding the expected, yet still surprising, information. "Holy shit…"

In black letters on his phone screen was unmistakable proof of his theory, but it certainly was not one he could have imagined a couple days ago.

LOCAL OWNER TRINGHAM TURNS BUSINESS EYE TO P.I. WORK

"Holy. Shit," Ed repeated for a third time, making Al grumble almost ferociously. The older blond turned to his brother. "How close are you on that code?"

"Close. I'd already be there if you weren't interrupting every couple of seconds," Al snapped. Ed would have apologized, but now _really_ wasn't the time for it.

"Well, hurry it up. I need to know if my theory's right," he responded in kind. Al sent him a well-meaning glare, but continued on with his work. Ed started to pace. _Tringham…Nash Tringham…_ The coincidence and connection was simply too great to overlook. Had it all been so simple? Was taking Father down truly so easy? He needed to know.

He got his answer a short second later when Al wrapped his work up.

"Holy shit…" Al breathed. Ed arched an eyebrow; his little brother pretty much never swore, so if all this was enough to drag an expletive out of him, then it all had to be big. "Brother…this is…it's huge."

"Nash Tringham," Ed said, heaving in his breaths. "Our co-workers' and friends' _father_. He was the private investigator working for dad. This whole damn time…"

"It was right under our noses," Al finished for him, holding up his paper of notes. Ed looked at it and wasn't sure whether to grin or have his mouth fall open. Sitting right there on the paper was an e-mail address with other notes: rtringham at mugearcorp. Yet even more was the note that Al had made right next to it. A note telling him that the entire file attached in the e-mail was heavily encrypted, with the key being a slightly complex tringhohen5247. The reason for this was roughly just as surprising. "Our boss is Greed."

"Mugear, working for Father?" Ed asked, now nabbing the paper to scrutinize it closely. "Why am I not surprised? Seriously, what is with corporations working for evil people?"  
"I should have seen it…" Al said, looking almost angry with himself. "When Detective Havoc got shot and the bombing…I should have been able to see it."

"It's all right, Al," Ed reassured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Even if you had figured it out then, none of it would have made a difference without proof. Besides, Mugear's damage was done long before then, by the time he'd had Dr. Gold modify the Red Tincture. Now, we have far more important things to concern ourselves with. Whatever Nash Tringham sent Russell, I'm sure it can take down Mugear and Father both."

"Right…" Al answered before sharply slapping his face. "You're right!"

"That's the spirit, Al," the older responded with a slap to the back. With that done, he held his phone up once again and began dialing the only number that could give them definitive answers. The phone rang for quite a bit before getting an answer, albeit a very tired one.

"Yeah, who is this?" Russell's tired voice echoed out, and Ed could imagine the younger man rubbing at his eyes in bed.

"I have an important question for you, Russell," Ed said, deciding to be brusque and blunt since kindness certainly wouldn't exactly get him anywhere.

"Ed, why're you calling me?" came the predictable, irritated voice. "It's way after midnight, and I thought we were on vacation."

 _Yeah, you might be,_ Ed savagely thought. _He_ certainly hadn't had any time off. "You can sleep all you want, then. I, on the other hand, need this now. It's about my dad."

"Oh, right. Sorry, forgot this wasn't a vacation for you. Hold on," Russell said, his tone now softer and apologetic. There was some slight creaking on the other end of the line and then the sound of a door clicking shut. "So, what's going on?"

"What's your e-mail password?"

"The hell, Ed?! What's that got to do with your dad?" Russell harshly whispered at him. Ed waited for his little tirade to subside before going on to answer him.

"It's important because my dad hired your dad," Ed told him. "We need access to an e-mail he sent to you for safekeeping. You haven't deleted any weird ones lately, have you?"

"Uh…to be honest," Russell chuckled under his breath, "Fletch and I sort of haven't looked since we got back from dad's funeral. Tried to access it the other day, but I think our whole department's locked out."

"Really?" Ed asked, glancing over to Al, who confirmed it with a nod.

"Yeah, apparently we need to go on site for it, but I can't be bothered with that."

"Then give me the password and I'll take care of it for you," Ed insisted. Russell seemed hesitant on the other end, but finally acquiesced with a sigh a few moments later.

"It's plant alchemist, no spaces."

"Great. Enjoy your vacation and time with your family, Russ," Ed said to him before quickly ending the call. He was about to dial another number when his phone just happened to vibrate, instead. "Speak of the devil. I have something for you, Mustang."

"Do you, Edward?" came Riza's cool tones. Ed felt a little embarrassed, but Hawkeye's next statement diminished that greatly. "We'd been trying to reach you, but…Anyway, I'm sorry, but Roy is busy with the EMT. Lyra was shot and Father escaped."

"We might have an idea of where he's going…maybe," Ed said. Al was leaning in now, attempting to listen to the conversation. "Depends on what you think his next move is."

"A deadly one," Mustang's voice entered as Riza's disappeared. "He plans on going after his Greed: the only one left besides the obvious Wrath."

"Then that makes it simple," Ed told him sternly, like they were gearing up for a final fight to take Father down. "Mugear is Greed. _That's_ where he's going, and it's exactly where you need to go. Everything our dad found was sent to Russell Tringham's account, password plantalchemist. There's an encrypted file sent by his father, Nash, that's opened with the key tringhohen5247. Everything is right there."

"Then we can end this, and you can save your family," Mustang said, just as serious in his timbre. "They're in the one place we never thought to look, Fullmetal: Ather's orphanage in East City."

Ed sucked in a breath. It was really so simple that the scientist couldn't believe he hadn't seen it sooner. Breathing heavily, Ed composed the words to say. They were heading to the same place once again, on the same team, just like in the past, and yet… "This is the end of the road we've walked together."

"Fullmetal…Ed…" Mustang said quietly, as though unsure of what to tell him.

"You know what that means, right?" Ed said, perhaps sharper than he should have, but he wanted to get the point across as best as he could. "That means after this, we're done. We can't keep running around in circles, Mustang. We can't keep teaming up to take down the bad guys that sprout up from our actions. I can't do that to my family. So, this had to be the end.

"When we started out, we both wanted revenge…and in a way, we got it," he continued on, almost unaware as to the somber tone that his words had taken on. "But going down that road, we made lots of enemies. We put ourselves and the people we love in danger. We can't do that anymore. It ends here."

"I agree, Ed," Roy finally responded. Somehow, Ed wasn't at all surprised by his response.

"Good. I'll walk to the end with you, but…" Ed paused, sucking on the inside of his cheek for just a moment. He couldn't know what was going through Mustang's head, but he knew that nothing more really needed to be said. "The orphanage, right?"

"Yes. You head there for your family and I'll head for Mugear," the commissioner said, both of their determinations flaring to life. "We'll meet up when this is all over for a drink."

"Long as you're buying," Ed told him, a smirk flickering back to life on his face. It dropped for just a single moment. "Be safe, you burning bastard."

All he got in response was a muted chuckle and echoed sentiments. Then they both hung up the phone. Ed breathed in once more and turned to his brother. Al nodded wordlessly and, taking the things they needed, proceeded to put the safety deposit box away. The two brothers then began to make their way out, startling the president for a moment. He nevertheless locked everything up before escorting them out of the bank.

Neither brother waited for the man to say goodbye, with Al offering only a hasty thanks as they got into their car. Ed's hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel while the car thrummed to life. He felt Al put a hand on his shoulder, encouraging him. Ed appreciated the effort and he gunned forward towards the highway to East City. As he got on that particular patch of asphalt, Al quickly looked up the address to the orphanage and began to guide them from there. Oddly enough, the older brother felt his mind go almost utterly blank, focusing solely on the mission ahead of him. It was time to take Wrath down once and for all.

Like always, it took under two hours for them to enter in to East City. The streets still hummed with life, though perhaps not to the extent they did during the day. Lights flashed by, illuminating the path forward, but Ed was laser-focused on the end goal, allowing Al to guide him through the streets. Before long, they'd entered into a seedier part of town, some distance from the Mugear headquarters. While there were _some_ newer buildings that had replaced those which were demolished, most of them were rather old and dilapidated. If Ed hadn't known the end result of the orphans who lived here, he'd have felt pity.

As it was, he felt nothing but rage.

"Here we are, brother," Al remarked, pointing to an ivy-covered gate that sat outside a darkened house. Ed didn't pull right up to it and had dimmed the headlights before stopping the car. "How should we do this?"

"Stealthy and kick whoever's ass gets in our way," Ed answered simply. Once more, Al nodded, not bothering to argue with him. Ed made sure to shut the door silently and padded over to the gate. He peeked around it to see two heavyset guards in front of the house doors, the old orphanage sign hanging lopsided from above them. To the sides was a brick wall. The older brother turned his body and pointed to the sides. Al got the message, nodding.

With a quick high five to one another, the brothers split, heading off to opposite sides. The brick wall was low enough that with a single leap, Ed had managed to grab onto the top and lift himself over in the darkness. He landed lightly on the weed-full grass and noticed Al was doing the same. Neither waited for the other, silently racing across the lawn. The guards turned just in time for Ed's automail fist to sink into one of their faces. Both crumpled, offering Ed a sadistic grin.

"Let's be careful, okay?" he noted to his brother before pushing the creaking doors open. A musty smell curled into Ed's nostrils, showing the relative disuse of the place. Doors were left open, but very little furniture remained in the halls, more starkly noticeable by the moonlight streaming in the windows. Al tugged on his shirt and pointed up the stairs. Ed's jaw tightened and he followed his brother's direction, proceeding up the stairs. They were weak stairs, some of them giving a little as he stepped upon them. To that point, he focused on just making it up the stairs to the second floor.

More doors stood open, except for one very distinct one at the end of the hallway. It was beyond obvious, and easily screamed "trap". Still, he decided to spring the trap and continue towards it. Papers were scattered about some of the rooms past the open doors; relics of a time long past. Both of the brothers remained on high alert, even as Ed placed his hand on the knob of the door. Turning it just a little and finding it was unlocked, Ed threw the door open.

The sight was almost instantly unsettling. The room was padded and the only window was completely boarded. It was all too obvious the extent to which they planned all of this. This was evident by the four huddled individuals in the corner of the room, bound and tied up against the wall like a pack of animals. At the very least they weren't gagged. Still tensed up, Ed strode into the room as two of the huddled figures lifted their heads.

"Ed?" called Winry's voice, filled with utmost trepidation. Her words informed Ed of everything, even without the cry of warning from his eldest son.

"Dad, it's a trap!" Eddie cried and Ed instantly dove to the side. Al had leapt backwards. Just as soon as they had, someone slammed into the floor, breaking it apart. When Ed regained his balance, he noticed that it was Wrath, grinning ferally at him. Growling with menace, Ed dove at him, kicking his leg out at the last second to nail Wrath in his side, complete with automail. Before he could retract his leg, Wrath caught it and pulled him close enough to headbutt him.

"Grah!" Al suddenly yelled, punching in a quick succession to Wrath's backside. The black-haired villain let go of Ed's leg and kicked his own backwards, making Al's knee buckle. Ed swung his automail arm out in a powerful haymaker that connected with Wrath's neck and flung him over to the wall. The younger man recovered quicker than anticipated and began to scurry up the walls.

"Hurry up and kick his ass, dad!" Lizzie's voice reverberated around the room.

"What is he? A gymnast?" Ed breathed to his brother as both he and Al readied themselves for the second assault. Once again, Wrath leapt from his position high atop the wall towards Ed. The blond crossed his arms as Wrath crashed into him.

There was only a brief second of the two almost grappling with each other before Ed felt something wrong. Rather, he felt the floor giving way beneath him. Grunting a little, he decided to take advantage of that; Wrath didn't know what was about to happen, and as the floor finally splintered and broke, Ed spiraled into a controlled fall. Wrath stumbled, attempting to catch his grip, but Ed quickly beaned him on the side of his head with a kick. The vigilante fell, as did Ed, though his trip was less dangerous, owing to Al catching him. "I've got you brother!"

"Great, now lower me down, then get them free!" Al strained his body, but complied, lowering Ed as much as he could before letting go. Some of the wood cut at his skin as he fell, but absorbing the shock with his automail leg, he was still in a better position than Wrath, who was shaking his head as he stood. "Let's go, you bastard! I'll show you how outclassed you are."

"Tough talk because you think you rescued your family?" Wrath responded with half a snarl, half a sneer. "I don't think so. Unless you've got one of _these_ , there's no way you're breaking your precious little family out of confinement."

Ed scowled at the sight of the rather large knife blade before him, the madman brandishing it with a wicked grin. Al was clearly not going to be able to rejoin the fight. Wrath swiped outward and Ed leapt back, slamming into something. With trepidation, Ed realized they had fallen into a kitchen of sorts, which also happened to have the only remaining piece of furniture in it: a table. Groaning from the sudden obstruction to his path, Ed dropped to the floor just as Wrath took a vicious slice where his head had been. Ed tackled forward, pinning the man's legs. Wrath lost balance and the knife clattered to the floor.

Mounting himself on top of the deranged psychopath, Ed reared back and punched him in the face. Unfortunately, his next automail punch was caught by Wrath, who leered up at him. Under his breath, Ed muttered the word "bastard" right as Wrath viciously twisted said arm. It was surprisingly excruciating. Wrath was exhibiting near super human levels of strength in twisting the arm. There were creaks and groans as wires snapped and rivets came loose.

"Aaaaaah!" Ed screamed, almost tempted to bite his tongue to stop the pain. However, it was soon over, but not for the better. Ed's automail arm was suddenly ripped out of its socket, sending jolts of pain up his shoulder as he tumbled back. Wrath catapulted forward and headbutted him to get himself free.

As soon as he was, the black-haired man scrambled for his knife, leaving Ed's damaged automail by the wayside. Cradling the stump of his automail port, Ed considered reattaching it, but soon thought of a much better use for it. He stood, swiping it from the floor and chucked it at Wrath's head. It nailed him on the back of the neck, distracting him. That was all the blond needed. Heaving a breath in as he grabbed a table chair with one hand, he swung it, the wood colliding and splintering on Wrath's back.

"You…asshole!" Wrath grunted. In the pale moonlight, Ed could see his back becoming a little wet from bleeding. He didn't concern himself with it, diving for the knife. He barely got ahold of it as Wrath once more lunged. Ed swiped out, causing a gash to manifest itself on Wrath's arm, and the blade to stick in his skin.

That didn't stop him. Wrath just reached forward, allowing the knife to dig into the flesh of his arm. He was gritting his teeth from whatever pain he was in, a leering grin on his lips. Ed found himself locked into position with only one arm as Wrath brutally grabbed his face. He began to squeeze, like he wanted to pop Ed's face as if it were a balloon.

"Why. Won't. You. Just. Die already? !" Wrath screamed. With all the strength he could muster, Ed twisted the knife, the blade lodging itself in Wrath's arm. Then he took the opportunity to knee him in the balls with no remorse, sending the psychotic man tumbling.

"It's over, Wrath! Stay down!" Ed grunted, realizing he hardly had room to talk with only one arm. "Mustang's about to take Father out of the game, and there's no way I'm gonna let you kill me."

"You think I give a shit about Father's plans?" Wrath cackled out at him. "He only cared about getting revenge for his mommy…but I want to make you and that bastard Mustang suffer."

"Like you're one to talk," Ed spat, shakily rising to his feet while Wrath did the same. "Your…what was Sloth to you? Your mother? She always got so offended whenever I'd even suggest you were a bastard. I can only imagine that it's because a lot of it is the truth."

"Shut up! How do you know about mommy? !" Wrath demanded, growling like a caged beast, but sounding like a child.

"Because _I'm_ not some momma's boy with a chip on his shoulder," Ed gasped out. "Oh, and your dear mommy's dead. Went and killed herself over betraying Father."

Wrath stopped moving, his body beginning to shake. Only, Ed wasn't relaxing; if anything, his own body was tensing all the more. In that second, he dreaded the fact that he had even said anything in the first place. Wrath had always been an angry, caged animal…and now Ed had released the padlock. "You…Mommy's dead? She's dead…? Mommy…?"

"You and Mugear are the only ones left," Ed told him, but the warning clearly fell on deaf ears.

"You killed her! You killed mommy!" the black-haired vigilante suddenly screamed. He was obviously very lost to reason, having not even heard that the woman had killed _herself_. That clearly didn't matter as Wrath gripped the knife and began to draw it out of him with a look of murderous intent. With a guttural scram, Wrath launched himself at him. Ed knew there was only one thing for it, and he aimed for the knife. "Stop killing my family and taking everything for yourself!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ed yelled, hand clasping around Wrath's wrist. Holding him was far harder than he'd ever anticipated.

"First, Big Brother Envy, and now Mommy! You're evil murderers!" Ed would have retorted that the pot was calling the kettle black, but he was too floored by the sudden revelation. Perhaps Wrath had never intended to let his motives slip, but they had. Ed had somehow never met the one called Envy, but he still knew the man. Now, it all made sense…a little too late.

Ed's hand slipped and Wrath pounced, managing to stab him viciously in the side, blood instantly spurting out. Ed slammed into a kitchen island, but couldn't find the strength to move effectively. "Damn bastard…"

"All you've done is take family from me!" Wrath proclaimed, inching closer with his raised knife. Ed was too busy clasping his side to make a move. "Well, guess what, Edward? I'm going to kill your brother and the rest of your family, right in front of you, to let you know how it feels! But first, I think I'll take the rest of your limbs!"

Wrath plunged the knife forward.

A gun fired.

Time stood still for but a moment, and Ed watched as Wrath fell forward, the knife spinning upward in an arc before planting itself in his back. There was a hole in the back of his head that Ed couldn't help but stare at with wide eyes.

"Looks like we made it in time…"

"Det…" Ed gasped out, recognizing the familiar voice. The owner of it stepped forward, picking Ed's arm up from the ground. Still in shock, Ed didn't reattach it. "Detective Breda? !"

"What's up, big guy? That wound looks nasty," Breda said, holstering his gun. Ed's mouth flapped open uselessly, still unsure of what to say.

"But…but you…how are you here?"

"Mustang told us to come, and Armstrong apprised us of the situation. Then he sent Brosh out," Breda answered. Ed was still beyond confused, though he registered the tromping on the stairs. Obviously recognizing the confusion, Breda grabbed a cellphone and tossed it to Ed. "That should answer your question.

"O…kay…" Holding his automail between his arm, Ed placed the phone next to his ear. "Uh…hello?"

"What's up, Fullmetal?" Ed had to almost stop the phone from falling.

"Wha…? Detective Havoc? I thought you-"

"-were dead? Must sound pretty good for a dead guy, then," Havoc's chuckles came over the phone, laced with some wheezes. Despite the swimming feeling in his head, Ed started to grin. Mustang was still a bastard, but he had made the most brilliant move in the entire game: he made it look like everyone had abandoned him. That was obviously far from the truth. More than that, he had done it to ensure the safety of his family. "But I'm not. Wounded, yeah, but we've just been laying low in East City for the right time."

"Mustang's such an asshole," Ed chuckled out. He didn't have much more time to say anything, suddenly being tackled by his family. It was followed by a cavalcade of words that made no sense. He was just glad they were okay; to hold them again. Yet even in that moment, there was something more important; something that Winry saw in his eyes when she drew back. She sighed, lightly caressing his face.

"Ed…" she breathed. Breda and Feury were removed, speaking with Al as the bespectacled detective moved Wrath's body. "You don't owe Roy Mustang anything anymore. There's no 'equivalent exchange' here."

"Yeah, probably," Ed muttered out, keeping his gaze on his wife's, "but I _do_ owe that bearded bastard a punch to the jaw. _That's_ why I have to go." Winry surveyed him, lips pursed before sighing and smiling at him. Then she cut a swath through their children and hugged him.

"Just come back safe, like always."

"I will."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Well, I think it's obvious now how close to the end we are. Only Mugear and Father himself remain, Ed's family is safe, and they know where the info to take Father down once and for all is. I hope you enjoyed the action this chapter and the reveal regarding Wrath's motives…and in particular the game Mustang played! Thanks for reading, and please leave a Review, and Dare to Be Silly.**


	16. Chapter 16

**And so, we reach the climax of the saga. I pray that you all find it enjoyable. So, let's read Chapter 16!**

* * *

Chapter 16

"Let's finish this."

Roy's words carried a true sense of finality as he flipped his phone shut, staring across at Riza. The blonde seemed to understand, because she said nothing and simply followed the gurney with Lyra on it out of the house. Letting her complete whatever preparations needed to be done, Mustang stepped over to the area that Lyra had been shot in. It was clearly close to the end of their little game.

"Commissioner Mustang, sir!" Armstrong's voice boomed out, just as loud as ever. The commissioner turned his head to the burly captain who was saluting him.

"You got here fast, Armstrong," Mustang commented.

"Of course! It was of the utmost priority, after all," Roy nodded his head at the man's loyalty, sucking in a slight breath. "Brosh is on his way to East City, and I'd assume the others are, as well? Anyway, he plans to rendezvous with some officers there and take Mugear into custody."

"Not if I get there first," Mustang said coldly. He turned away, first patting the chair and then Armstrong's massive biceps. "Make sure you get that blood. We need it to prove that Ather was here. I'm going to end this."

"Best of luck, sir," Armstrong said with another salute as Mustang quickly swept from the estate, his coat flapping out behind him. Hawkeye was already in the front seat, and the second he touched his own, she was off and heading for the highway. Mustang slumped in his chair slightly, not even focusing on the road or where they were going.

Had he managed to fool Father? Had he succeeded in outplaying him with his long, and possibly detrimental, move? It hadn't been easy to have Knox pretend that Havoc was dead. Injured severely and requiring physical therapy, sure, but the man had survived worse before. Keeping it from Alphonse, and subsequently Ed, was more difficult. It required timing, finesse and a hell of a great acting job from Breda. Lyra appeared to have bought it, though that all seemed a little pointless now. He could only hope that Ather hadn't discerned his methods. If he had, both Mugear and Ed would be dead long before he reached them.

He didn't want that.

The lights of East City flashed into his eyesight. It felt so familiar…almost comforting in a way, this time. The final stage to close the chapter of Homunculus Corp was in East City. Where he had found a home. Where the investigation that had unraveled a national conspiracy started. He was coming home. To him, that meant having the advantage. Father may have planned every step, but this was his turf, and Mugear was still a citizen. So, firming that resolve, Mustang made to focus on the destination in mind: Mugear's skyscraper, fast approaching.

For a brief moment, Roy allowed his mind to flit over to the seedier part of the city, where Ed likely was. He hoped he was okay, but at the same time, trusted him. It had been lacking in their relationship lately. Tearing his eyes away from that, he steeled himself with resolve. Remembering the passcodes that he needed, Roy's gaze fixed itself ahead. Before long, Riza had pulled into the parking lot there.

"You know what to do. Just like with Lust," he said to her, pulling his gun and making sure everything was loaded the right way.

"I've got it covered, sir," Hawkeye answered coolly, pulling a black case with the police emblem upon it. "Be careful up there, sir. My scope of protection can only go so far, but you know that I always have your back."

"And I have yours." Hawkeye nodded at his proclamation. For a brief, nearly impossible, moment, Roy considered kissing her, just as he had done in the past. At the stern expression upon her face, however, he thought better of it, opting for a simple nod. That was enough for them to part ways with silent wishes of safety.

Once he was moving, Mustang didn't look back, his feet carrying him with renewed purpose towards the double glass doors. Beyond them, he could see a security guard lounging at his desk with a cup of coffee. Not wanting to stop, Roy kept moving, tossing the doors open with as much authority as he could muster. The security guard practically flew from his chair, the coffee spilling aimlessly across the floor. Ignoring it, the guard approached him.

"Excuse me, but the office is-"

"Police," Mustang said coldly, hoping it would ward the man off. It clearly did no such thing, as the security guard reached over and put a hand on his shoulder, as if to turn him away. The commissioner acted instantly, grabbing his gun and whipping outward, holding it trained on the guard. "I said, police. Now, stand down and tell me where AlChemistry Labs and Mugear's office is."

"Th-third floor for the Labs," the man stuttered out, stumbling backwards and falling into his chair with a loud noise. "A-and th-the office is the top floor…b-but you'll need a security pass to get in."

"Well, then," Mustang said, lowering his gun. He reached over to the guard and ripped the lanyard off with his security pass. Offering a stern smile as thanks, Mustang left the security station. He quickly bypassed the elevator, not wanting to deal with any "mechanical failures" and instead aimed for the stairs, jumping them two or three at a time. He had no idea if Father had gotten here yet, and didn't care to ask; Father had a way of making people do the things he wanted, so if he was here, the guard wouldn't have told him anyway.

For now, he had to focus on his task. Mugear could probably take care of himself, at least for a short moment of time. The information contained in the Tringham's e-mail account, however, was extremely precious. If it would take down Ather and put an end to all this at long last, then there was no debating that it was of the utmost priority. As he jumped up the stairs, Mustang slung the lanyard around his neck, not wanting it to get in his way. His other hand now free, he made sure to clasp his gun tighter. There were no other threats in sight, but the commissioner didn't relax for a second.

In less than a minute. He had arrived on the third floor, facing a large metal door that granted him access to that floor's hallways. Roy quickly pushed the door open violently. Said hallway was all too dimly lit, obviously closed down for the night given the extremely late hour that it was. Only a few tracking lights traced the hallway, illuminating some doors, but Mustang already knew his destination. Seeing one of the lights hovering over a directional sign, he quickly noted the location of AlChemistry Labs and instantly took off.

The sound of his pounding feet on the marbled floors echoed all over the place, making it seem like he was coming from all sorts of directions. Mustang flashed by doors, the windows that looked into them completely pitch black. Yet it didn't matter in sight of the one door he was looking for. Even in the poor lighting of the hallway, it was impossible for him to mistake the plating that said "AlChemistry Labs" that was affixed to the front door. There were no lights there, too, but it was obvious that it didn't matter. Only the keycard slot mattered. Mustang ripped the lanyard from around his neck and wasted no time in swiping it.

The red light on the lock turned green, and a light buzzing was heard, alongside a click. Keeping the lanyard firmly clasped in his hand, Roy wrenched the door open and stormed inside. He didn't wait for the door to close, and nor did he make a move to turn the lights on. Both were distractions and time wasters that he couldn't afford to have. No, he was far more focused on the small row of computers just ahead. None of them were on, which he had figured would happen, so he instantly slid over to them and pressed the power button, waiting for it to fire up.

"Come on, come on…" Mustang breathed under his breath. The loading screen on the computer seemed all too agonizingly slow. Hoping to circumvent the time spent, Roy cast his gaze around and managed to find a loose flash drive sitting on the Tringhams' desk. Hoping that Ed's co-worker would be able to forgive him later, he grabbed it just as the sign-in page popped up. Remembering the information that Ed had given him earlier, Mustang quickly typed the password before jamming the flash drive in.

Thankfully, this process took less time and he could soon click to access the e-mail account on the company's intranet. After a few more seconds of loading, the e-mail sign-in page came up. His fingers worked diligently to sign in and opened to a whole cavalcade of e-mails. Mustang frowned, but grabbed the mouse and began a quick sift through the unread and unopened department memos and other detritus.

Then he saw it, sitting there perfectly: Nash Tringham, Final Case. Feeling just the slightest thrill of excitement, he clicked on it. There, in bold letters was a document entitled "Packet". Mustang couldn't stop the corners of his lips from twitching. He was mere seconds away from having everything he would need to finish this for good. He clicked on it, and just as expected, the query for the encryption key popped up. It took less than five seconds to type it in and press Enter.

Then the screen exploded with information. File folder upon file folder opened up, showing official documents, newspaper clippings, comments on surveillance logs. Names like Bradley, Dante, Archer, and Claudio were all thrown around. For a moment, Roy couldn't help but hesitate. This was everything. The Holy Grail of Homunculus Corp as it were. This had the power to end the lives and careers of anyone connected to Homunculus or the Dante administration that was still alive. It was more than a weighty decision. He truly held people's lives in his hands. He held _his own_ life in his hands. The second this kind of information were to get out there, he'd have to confess everything, or else he'd simply be dragging a president's name through the mud. He'd leave his fate in the hands of an investigative committee.

A difficult decision to make, and one that Roy had long since decided upon.

He clicked on the master file and dragged it over to the flash drive. In seconds, the large packet began to transfer itself, and Mustang knew he could do nothing but wait, watching the progress of the green bar inch slowly forward. There was a small noise, then, like the sound of the door clicking shut.

Mustang's nerves went on high alert; it shouldn't have taken that long for the door to close. He turned, raising his gun towards whatever intruder was entering the lab.

 _Bang!_ Mustang's gun fired at the same time as whoever was entering the lab. Instantly, he knew that it could not have been a friend; they wouldn't have fired so easily. Glancing to see that the progress of the file transfer was nearly complete, the commissioner crouched to avoid any more firing bullets. He did fire back, however. Not that he could see all too well in the dark, and he was all too evidently missing, if the shattered glass sounds were anything to judge by.

The computer suddenly dinged rather loudly amidst the gun fight. Deciding to risk it, Mustang popped up and closed out the files before ejecting the flash drive. He wrenched it out of the port as another gunshot fired. Hot, searing pain filled his right shoulder. Roy didn't cry out, but he did fall backwards, slamming into a chair as the gun tumbled from his hands to the floor. The black-haired man sucked in a breath from the pain and tried to reach for his fallen weapon, but found his limbs weren't moving all that well. His fingers were losing their motor skills and the flash drive and lanyard fell to the floor. In fact, no matter what Roy tried to do, he found that he couldn't move much at all. His vision was growing blurry as well, and while his first thought was that the pain was causing it, he quickly discounted it.

He could certainly recognize the man now standing before him through all of that.

"A…ther…" he growled out, barely even able to manage moving his mouth. The paralysis was setting in quicker than he ever could have imagined. The man in question crouched down to look at him with a sadistic smirk; no doubt he was enjoying this.

"How does it feel? To be so helpless?" he said. Roy struggled with his own body, but couldn't move a single muscle. He was at the complete mercy of Ather and the poison inside his body. "I wonder if this was how my mother felt before you killed her."

Roy groaned. He wanted to tell the deluded and psychotic fool that his mother was far from helpless, but the poison in his system was preventing him from doing so. His vision was starting to get even blurrier as he struggled to breathe. Suddenly, Ather grabbed him by the throat, pinning him against the desk. Through his fading vision, Mustang could see the trail of blood just behind him, the man's arm injured from the gunshot earlier. Ather was like a caged animal, though, finally let loose.

"You know the real irony about all of this, commissioner?" Ather asked, though it was starting to sound like incoherent mumbles with Mustang's fading hearing. "It's not that the son of the woman you killed is the one to take your life. It's that your death was ultimately caused by Edward. Not that it was his intention for his anesthetic to be turned into such a powerful poison. That modification was all Doctor Gold. I find it very interesting how quickly it circled the market, yet the Elric brothers never even noticed it for what it was. Just a shame you made me waste all my bullets that had it.

"If only Mugear hadn't been a business man through and through." His voice sounded lamenting, but also uncaring as Roy struggled to breathe. He tried to moved his hand to grab the flash drive, but only managed a few grunts. "I suppose I have to thank you, though. You went through all the effort of procuring the only things that could end my career."

With his words, Ather reached down and grabbed hold of both the flash drive and the lanyard before he let go of Mustang's throat. The younger man smirked at him and stood. In seconds, he had kicked Mustang's gun away and was leaving the room. The commissioner strained, still finding it difficult to breathe. Yet in that, he understood; Ather had left him to die solely to experience despair. He wanted him to feel the experience of being unable to do anything but lay there and die while Ather succeeded in his plan.

Roy's consciousness was fading and his body was slumping. He couldn't believe it; couldn't believe that he would meet his end by a simple bullet in his _shoulder_ of all places. Everything was fading into a haze of delirium. His head was pounding out a horrible cadence and it felt like the entire world was shaking and rumbling around him, but he knew that couldn't be the case. Roy's eyes threatened to close, and perhaps they would have if not for a sudden pain that pierced through his paralysis in the area where the bullet was. That made him open his eyes wide and attempt to focus his vision.

"You're a real pain in the ass, Mustang. Now, I'd ask you to hold still, but I'm pretty sure that's not a problem." Mustang felt something shoved in his mouth, and he could already guess at what it was for. Seconds later, he was biting into it as what seemed like a scalpel was digging into his shoulder. Ed was _not_ the most precise surgeon in the world, but he certainly seemed to do his job accurately enough, because within seconds, he could tell that the bullet had been removed from his arm and placed on the desk. Ed wasted no time talking, but took a syringe and deliberated for just a second before jabbing it in his other arm. "Let's hope this works."

Mustang didn't exactly gather confidence from those words, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice. Ed's antidote was truly the only salvation left for him. He attempted to breathe steadily, but it was difficult…until it wasn't. He coughed suddenly and pitched forward. His limbs felt heavy, but he could move his fingers. Ed seemed to catch him and prop him up. As Mustang's body regained its motor skills, he looked at the blond, barely visible in the dark, with as much gratitude as he could.

"Father has the information, then?"

"Yeah…" Mustang wheezed, his voice finding itself. "Hit me with Red Water. Distributed it as poison around the market."

"That explains a lot," Ed noted, taking a sudden seat next to Roy while he recovered. He could already feel most of his energy returning by the second. "We should have noticed sooner, but all those modifications masked it. Makes sense, now, that we figured out the antidote so quickly."

"Mmm…" the commissioner managed to grunt out. "Thanks…Ed. Family okay?"

"Shaken, but all right. Wrath is dead," Ed told him. With a slightly exhausted groan, the man stood and Roy could see a large gash in his abdomen. He clearly hadn't been able to get his family out without a struggle. Ed appeared to notice that he was looking at the wound. "Just a scratch. I've had worse, remember?"

He indicated this by lifting his automail hand, offering Roy a chuckle. That reminded the commissioner of just how much they'd been through together. It was no wonder that Ed wanted this to be the end. No more "scratches" that could take him away from his family. "Yeah…then let's reach the end of the road."

"Yeah, at least this one," Ed said and he held a hand out. Roy looked at it a moment before scoffing with a smile. This was always how it had been. He reached his hand out, clasping Ed's and pulling himself up. His feet stumbled a little, still recovering from the paralysis, but he managed to stand. The blond scientist looked him over for a minute, as if to make sure he was okay. Once he'd made sure, he nodded and turned around, aiming right for the door back into the hallway. Mustang took a brief second to grab his gun from the floor.

"Do you have clearance for Mugear's office?" Roy gasped out. Clearly the lingering effect of the poison remained in his system. Ed turned his head as he pulled the door open and held it for Mustang. It was oddly kind of him.

"Probably not," Ed admitted. The feeling was coming back to Roy's feet, and though there was a sense of fatigue, the commissioner allowed the adrenaline to flood his body. He was able to pick up the pace and draw even with his partner. "But I have a feeling that Father is in such a rush he'll forget to lock the door."

"The man's clearly become unhinged," Mustang chuckled out. Ed scoffed disbelievingly and Roy understood the intent behind it. "I'm just saying. He tried to kill me."

"He was probably going to pin the blame on Mugear or me or something," Ed told him as they pelted down the hallway. Ed ran right pas the stairwell and towards a large elevator door. Roy followed his lead as closely as he could. "They certainly love setting people up as patsies."

"Then we get to Mugear before he can make a patsy out of him."

Ed grunted his agreement as they finished their approach to the elevator. Confirming Roy's suspicion, there was a slot for swiping a keycard, one that he doubted Ed had the security clearance on. For a single moment, it made him wonder how Father expected to get to Mugear, until he remembered the lanyard he had. Mustang hadn't seen it be taken clearly, but judging by its absence earlier, he knew that it had been. That hardly seemed to matter to Ed, who was busy on a keypad next to the card slot. He seemed to be inputting numbers, and in seconds, the elevator began whirring. It instantly told Mustang that Ather had taken it up there.

"You work at a place long enough, and you start picking up on all the security codes," Ed told him while they waited for the elevator to travel down. It didn't take very long and they were both on the express to Mugear's office. "Mugear isn't super security conscious when it comes to his office. His guards might be, but he's not. Never thought he'd work for Father, though."

"I have the feeling it was more an alliance," Mustang said, swallowing some saliva to wet his parched throat. "Mugear provided things and received money and profits and government contracts in turn. Like Lyra, though, he probably got cold feet when he realized how devastating things could be. He's not a killer like Kimblee or Wrath; he's just a fat, greedy bastard."

"No arguments there." Ed agreed, folding his arms. The door dinged once more and they slid open to the top floor of the Mugear headquarters. It took only seconds for them to hear the commotion inside of it. They instantly turned in its direction and ran right for it, Mustang holding tightly to his gun.

"There's no reason for this, Ather! I've been loyal!" Mugear was shouting, and they could both hear the fear present in his voice.

"You have been, but now you're no longer of use to me," Ather's voice echoed outward. "I thought you knew what would happen if we reached the end of this."

"B-but this is insanity!" Mugear shouted. "I've supported you since you were a mere child! Gave money to the orphanage! I did what you asked! How am I of no further use to you? Doesn't what I did mean _something_?"

"Mugear," Ather's deep voice said simply. There was little emotion behind it, except for, perhaps, chastisement. Mustang and Ed were near to the open door now, right on the edge of it. The commissioner peeked inside, seeing how preoccupied Ather and Mugear were, the former's back turned to them. Mustang quickly signaled for Ed to move to the other side of the door. He did so. "I only keep what I can use. Don't you lay off or fire people when they're of no more use to you?"

"This is entirely different!" Mugear snapped back. There was a clattering sound and Roy looked to see that Mugear had fallen over a chair and his back was now up against his large window. "I don't go killing people!"

"But you have, Mr. Mugear," Ather stated calmly. Mustang saw him approaching the land baron slowly, his gun a looming threat in his hand. "How many people died thanks to your development of the Red Water? And then you used that same poison to kill the commissioner of the police? You'll be lucky to avoid the needle, yourself."

"I-I did no such thing!" Mustang scowled and shook his leg a bit. He _had_ planned to frame Mugear all along. There was no doubt in his mind that he was looking to come out the hero in all this. The charcoal-haired commissioner looked across the door to his compatriot.

"Get the flash drive," he mouthed to Ed. For a second, Ed looked confused, but he seemed to understand mere seconds later, judging by his nod. With a returned nod, the two men stepped in the room silently while Father continued to bear down upon a frightened Mugear.

"That doesn't matter. People get away with things all the time. I mean, Mustang got away with murdering my mother for almost two decades. She got away with far worse in her time. You know all this," Father taunted the man, though he still sounded dead as he said it. Roy's grip tightened on his gun and at that moment, Ed made his move.

His feet silently beat across the carpeted floor while Roy raised his gun. As he did so, he noticed how dark it was in the office; there was just a desk lamp providing scant illumination that was only made up by the lights of the city shining in. It was enough to illuminate Ather and the pictures on the walls, including one of the land baron shaking his soon-to-be attempted killer's hand. He should have seen it sooner, but it was ultimately irrelevant in the face of Ed reaching Ather.

"Edward-" Mugear began to shakily say in surprise, cut off by the actions that happened in very quick succession. Ather turned, his gun traveling with him, just as Ed slammed into him. The two were forced up against the window, and Mustang could see it jiggle a little from the impact. Mugear scrambled onto his knees, crawling on the ground to get to safety. "Well, shoot him!"

"Shut up," Mustang snapped. His hands were still trembling from the poison, and even if they had been steady, Roy knew that it would be impossible to hit Father without also shooting Ed. He didn't think the blond would be nearly so accepting of taking a sacrificial shot as Riza was.

"How are you al-" Father didn't get the chance to say much else. Ed punched him straight across the face, causing him to stumble, only for the automail fist to come back from the other side to pick him up.

"That's for my family, asshole!" he roared, bringing his knee up into Father's stomach. The other blond gagged, but didn't have much time to react to Ed's automail fist flying at his face. Despite his evident pain, Ather ducked and Ed's fist soared overhead. It made contact with the window pane, and thanks to the excessive force, shattered it. Brisk, cool winds blasted into the room, fluttering Mustang's coat out behind him. Ed didn't stop his momentum, slamming his elbow down onto Father's head, sending him crumpling to the floor. For all the man's machinations, he was obviously outclassed in the fighting aspect.

"Commissioner, thank you!" Mugear's voice came in short breaths from next to him. "He-he was going to kill me! I never thought a senator would-"

"Cut the crap, Mugear," Mustang snapped at him. "We know about your involvement in his plans. I only need to know how far it went, but you _are_ walking out of here in handcuffs." Mugear paled at the thought of prison time. Ed, meanwhile, bent low towards Father.

"Better than a body bag," he murmured. Mustang lowered his gun, wiping at his brow, and turned to take Mugear into custody. He roughly turned the man around, fumbling with his handcuffs for just a moment before enclosing them on the man's wrists. "Found-"

 _BANG!_ The gunshot sounded horrific in the close quarters. Ed stumbled back, crashing into the desk while he clutched at his earlier wound with one hand, the other shakily gripping the flash drive from earlier.

"Gah…ah…ah!" Ed screamed out, sliding down to the floor as Father stood, keeping the gun on him. Roy didn't wait, anger fueling his veins. He pushed Mugear away into a wall, where he fell, and then he aimed his gun and fired. This time, both shots hit. Ather got slammed by the bullet in his upper arm while the shot Ather had fired impacted just below his shoulder bone. He fell back, hitting the ground with a cry.

"You two can't die, can you?" the maniacal blond gasped out, feeling the effect of the gunshot. "I should have just finished you off…but I didn't expect Edward. Wrath was supposed to kill you."

"Sorry to…disappoint…" Ed wheezed out. Mustang couldn't see his face, but he could tell that Ed was grinning at him, or smirking. In the distance, a slamming noise was heard, and Mustang could also hear the faint cry of sirens. "By the way, your little lapdog is dead…and my family's alive. Detective Breda saw to that."

"Breda?" It was the most surprise (or even emotion) that Mustang had ever seen on Ather's face, beyond his traditional contempt. Roy began to chuckle.

"Made you look, bastard," he smirked out at him. "Did you really think that they'd all leave me after the hell we've been through together? My men don't die so easily to their loyalty."

"Well…" Father scoffed, and Roy could see the disbelief and self-directed loathing on his face. At least, he did for a second. It quickly transformed into a sneer. "They're not here to help you now."

"Who…" Roy grunted, clasping at his gun while Ather raised his to aim at his head. He prepared to fire. "Who said they weren't?"

Father didn't see it coming. One second, he was aiming his gun, and in the next, his hand was bleeding, the sniper bullet piercing it. He screamed, still clasping the gun, but now gripping his hand at the pain. Mustang smirked and summoned the requisite energy to stand, shuffling towards the desk with pain in every movement. Clearly, Riza had been successful in her goal.

"I guess…I underestimated their loyalty to you," Father gasped, shakily grabbing his gun with his uninjured hand.

"Wrong," Mustang wheezed out as he reached the desk. "Anyone would know that my subordinates and I have unwavering faith in one another. What you missed in all your calculations was the thought of doing the same thing Edward pulled sixteen years ago."

"Faking a death…" Ed laughed out. "Man, he really got you, bearded bastard."

Father stood there, his new gun hand jiggling. Roy watched him as his face shifted between hatred, pain and rage. It ultimately settled on a combination of the three. "You weren't supposed to get this far in the game. You were supposed to be out of the way long before the vote was to pass."

"That's never going to happen," Mustang spat at him. "And maybe you never should have underestimated me."

"Or I should have just killed you right away, myself. I'll remedy that now," Ather told him with a snarl. He didn't raise his gun yet, but Mustang could smell the murderous intent. "It's better for you this way. After all, it would probably be even more painful to watch me bring the country together by bombing other nations with nuclear weapons. Then I'd become president and the intelligence agency would destabilize other nations to make them ripe for the taking. Now that I think about it, it's a shame you won't get to see it, Must-"

His words were cut short in the same way as his gun arm raising was. Roy clutched at the desk and looked up to see the blank stare in his eyes. Right in the center of his forehead was a hole, a bullet embedded inside. Ather's body shook a moment, and then pitched backwards, falling out the broken window and tumbling to the streets below. Roy didn't hear his body impacting with the cement, too busy turning his own.

Standing there, framed in the door, was Denny Brosh, his gun out with a focused expression.

"B-Brosh…" Mustang gasped out as his body's strength gave out, sliding down the side of the desk, opposite Ed. "Why are you here?"

The answer didn't come right away, but when it did, Mustang could only admit surprise. "Because I made a choice. And protecting my comrades and country was more important than a single senator."

"I see…" Mustang laughed out before grimacing in pain. Brosh watched him for a moment before smiling and turning towards the whimpering Mugear. He picked him up and began to drag him out. "Hey, Brosh. Can you call the paramedics for Ed? And make sure you get the flash drive from him when you do."

"You, too, bastard," Ed wheezed out.

"Already on the way, sir," Brosh's answer came. He continued to leave, but Roy's voice called him back at the threshold.

"And Brosh…thanks for trusting me."

There was a light pause in which Brosh smiled and nodded. "Any time, sir." Then he was gone.

Roy exhaled loudly, the pain and exhaustion beginning to numb his body. Father was dead. It was a fact he almost couldn't believe, yet the fact that he was alive spoke to it. All of the other details and the fallout from the debacle would come later. Right now, he just wanted to rest and have a drink.

"Hey, Mustang," Ed groaned out from the other side of the desk, "is it all finally over?"

"Yeah, Fullmetal, it's all over."

The last remnants of Homunculus Corp and Dante's legacy had finally been destroyed.

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 **Author's Note: This was undoubtedly the final climax of this story. I hope it didn't disappoint. Now, Father's death may have been underwhelming, but I really wanted it to be Brosh who finished him off, completing that character's journey while also breaking the cycle that began in TO CATCH A KILLER. I hope that all makes sense to you, along with tying off all the little plot points I had created. Next chapter is definitively the final chapter of the story and will drop in 4 weeks, like always. I hope you'll stay with me to the end of this saga. Until then, please Review and Dare to Be Silly.**


	17. Chapter 17

**This is the final chapter of TO STOP A KILLER. I worked very hard on it, so I hope you enjoyed it right until the very end.**

* * *

Chapter 17

"The capitol remains in a state of uproar for the eighth day in a row," called the reporter's voice from the screen. Mustang sat up in his hospital bed, looking around for the remote to turn off the television. With a scowl on his face from being unable to find it, he slumped against his pillows. "Following the release of sensitive documents and information by the police, a shift in the balance of power inside the senate has been sparked."

"Man, it's just like with Bradley," chuckled Havoc's voice from the bed next to him. Roy looked over, finally noticing that the remote was tauntingly in his hands. "They just can't shut up about it."

"Don't be so surprised," Roy said, breathing in slightly. He'd been in the hospital for over a week now as the doctors ran test after test on him to make sure the poison had been completely excised from his system. The gunshot was less of a problem, as evidenced by Ed being able to walk out of the infernal building and back to his family almost four days ago. "With everything that came crawling out of the woodwork, it's a frightening situation."

"I know, I know," Havoc expressed dismissively. "I guess I just find it…funny? Meh, probably not, but it's a hell of a lot better to watch than doing physical therapy every day. If it wasn't for Becca and the kids…"

"At least you've got their support," Roy pointed out, staring at the television but not registering what was displayed upon it. "All I have is a bevy of reporters ready to rip my head off and crush me with questions."

"What'd you expect, chief?" Havoc questioned. He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table, but thought better of it when Roy glared at him. "You gave Brosh the go ahead to not only release everything on that flash drive, but even reveal your involvement with that whole Dante mess."

"Shut up, Havoc. I'm not having this conversation with you _again_." Havoc just shrugged and turned up the volume of the television as Brosh came on.

"In light of the evidence found and released," the sandy-blond detective stated in an interview that was clearly held at the beginning of the whole debacle, "our country and police force needs to be a solitary and unified force. Mistakes were made, and crimes were committed by the people that we trusted most. I joined the police, as did Commissioner Mustang, in an effort to protect the people of this country. Sometimes, what that means begins to change. But what doesn't change is the beating heart at the center of this country, and the compassion of the men and women who serve it."

"Huh, he's pretty good in the public eye." Mustang refused to acknowledge the man next to him, preferring to pay attention to the reporter on the screen at this point.

"This was a press conference given by Detective Brosh following the release of various documents last Friday morning after the devastating events at Mugear and Company's headquarters," they said professionally. "Among this slew of verified documents were news reports, financial statements, and executive orders implicating the late President Dante as the benefactor behind the criminal corporation, Homunculus Corporation.

"Further, ties have been made between the late president and her now-known son, Senator Frederick Ather, who died at Mugear Headquarters following his attempted murder and framing of the land baron, himself, who now awaits trail." The scene before them changed to that of the portly man, quivering before the cameras.

"I…I made a mistake," Mugear admitted to the bright, flashing lights. "I believed that by supporting a boy with such ambition, I would be aiding the country. My actions led to the unfortunate death of many."

"He was not alone, as he is joined by Director Lyra of the Intelligence Agency, still in a coma," the reporter appeared to conclude. "While investigations into the allegations against the late Senator Ather are still being held; charges such as murder, kidnapping, robbery, and conspiracy to commit terrorism amongst others, the committee of investigation yesterday reached a conclusion regarding a case that was no doubt simmering for sixteen years: the death of President Dante."

"Well, at least we know the results of that by now," Havoc smirked out at him. Continuing to ignore him, Mustang watched as Logue Lowe, head of the investigative committee, now monopolized the screen.

"Sixteen years ago, President Dante was assassinated. At the time, we were told that she was killed by then Southern Police Chief Frank Archer," Logue spoke with a very solemn and serious voice, befitting the gravity of the situation. "This was, as we know now, a lie. Per the commissioner's words himself, sixteen years ago, Roy Mustang shot and killed both Frank Archer and President Dante. In order to discern the truth of this matter, or perhaps the truth behind truths is more accurate, we have conducted an intensive weeklong series of exhaustive interviews.

"The committee had therefore deemed that Roy Mustang…acted in fair judgment and in accordance with the rule of law. Thus, he is acquitted of all charges against him," the senator concluded.

"Commissioner Mustang is scheduled to give his own press conference at a later-"

"Yeah, when they finally let me out of this shitty hospital," Mustang scoffed. Havoc appeared to take that as a signal to shut the television off. Just as Roy was laying back against the pillows, there came a knock at the door. Seconds later, he saw Riza popping her head in.

"You have a visitor, sir," she said as professionally as ever.

"It's not a reporter, is it?" he asked snappishly. He really didn't want to deal with any uncomfortable questions. Hawkeye shook her head, giving him reason to sigh in relief. "All right, then."

"Come on in," Hawkeye said to whoever was waiting just beyond the door. Mustang jiggled his foot a little as she stepped aside to let them in. He really felt that he should have expected it.

"You look horrible," Ed commented. Roy was about to shoot back that he didn't look so great, himself. That's when he saw that the blond male wasn't alone. Behind him was Alphonse, followed by Winry and his children. It brought relief to his heart, knowing that they were okay, enough to curb his tongue in the situation.

"I could certainly be better," Mustang admitted. He leaned lazily against his pillows, as if to give off the impression that it didn't bother him. Doing so, he caught sight of Winry and subtly nodded at her. She smiled back. "So, other than governmental chaos, what's going on in the outside world?"  
"We lost our jobs," Al answered, laughing a little. Roy arched an eyebrow at the statement. "I mean, it's no surprise, really. Mei was surprised, but she extended the family's vacation in Xing."

"Our boss was involved in murder," Ed commented, sitting down at the edge of the bed. He appeared to wince a bit, but otherwise showed no signs of injury. "Good thing we were found innocent of any impending charges."

"Helps that your boss was a greedy bastard that was only in it for the potential windfall, dad," spoke the oldest boy in the room. Roy noticed he looked most like his father, completely unlike the younger girl now approaching them.

"So…were _you_ the one who killed the bad guy?" she asked. Roy looked to Ed a moment before scoffing.

"Not quite," Mustang admitted. The girl looked disappointed and turned away, back towards her mother. Winry put her arm around the girl.

"Either way, we're grateful," the blonde admitted. "It's been difficult to adjust again, but we wanted to thank you for everything, Roy. Well, and to tell you to come by for dinner once everything is settled. I know Elicia and Gracia wanted to see you, but haven't had the chance."

"I'm sure her in-laws have enough on their plates. And so have you…"

"Yeah," Ed commented with a breath on his lips. "Finally had the funeral yesterday. Had to listen to a bunch of fake sob stories from his colleagues, but I guess the ceremony was nice enough."

"And he's with mom, now," Al observed. Ed seemed all too aware of this fact, judging by the solemn expression on his face. The older brother didn't say anything, and so Al went on. "Plus, dad's will came through and left his entire estate to us. Not that we need the money."

"It was a pretty big amount," Ed agreed. "More than you policemen would ever see in your lifetimes, after all."

"Hey, we're right here!" Havoc snapped. Both the Elric brothers and Mustang ignored him while Winry moved herself and the kids out of the room. Once they were gone, and the door shut, Ed let out a massive sigh.

"Problem with that kind of money is that we have no idea what to do with it," he confessed loudly. For a second, he flinched and grabbed at his side. Al picked up the thread of conversation.

"We definitely want to try another company, since we lost our jobs and all," Al told him, his face looking rather thoughtful. "Truth be told, we…er, _I've_ been thinking about putting our combined investigative abilities to work."

"It's just a working plan. Unless you have a better idea?" Ed asked. Roy looked to the ex-scientist, who seemed to be hinting at something with his gaze. It seemed almost obvious as to exactly what that was, but the charcoal-haired man decided to pass it off with a light laugh.

"Hell if I know," he told them dismissively. "I'm just glad you and your family are all right, Fullmetal." Ed watched him a moment longer, blinking. Then he let out his own chuckle and stood, deciding to pat the man's leg.

"Yeah, you too, you fiery bastard," Ed replied in turn. Al was already opening the door and exiting, but Ed stopped at it, looking back. "Just think on it. Maybe it's time you got off that road."

"I'll let you know," he told the blond. Ed frowned, watching him, before waving his hand and leaving the room. Roy watched him go in contemplation as Riza stepped back in, asking whoever else was outside the door to keep careful watch. Then she snapped it shut, leaving the three of them alone.

"What was that all about, chief?" Havoc asked. Hawkeye, meanwhile, watched Roy curiously. Mustang didn't respond to either of their inquiries, verbal or silent.

All he could think of was the sight of the Elric family, standing together. Father's words returned to him. Even if the game was over, Mustang felt that too much had been lost. Yes, he had held on to everything that he'd sworn to protect, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel like he shouldn't have. _No…I did give something up. I gave up everything normal. Everything that Ed has,_ he realized to himself. Ed's words quickly replaced Father's. Their road was over. They had traveled it and reached the point where everything connected to their pasts had been resolved.

"The future," he finally answered, though he was saying it more for himself than for the others in the room with him. "We stopped walking the road of the past, so now it's time to walk the road of the future."

"You're not making much sense," Havoc told him. Roy shifted on the bed, looking at his detective.

"You'd like more time with your kids, right, Havoc?"

"After the hell that was this hospital, definitely," Havoc laughed. "Hell, I'm thinking of trying to reconcile with Becca. I mean, it's not like I'll be able to return to the force except for a desk job anytime soon."

"True…" Mustang breathed. He looked up and over at Riza, the woman softly smiling at him. Even looking as professional as ever, he had to admit how much his entire being yearned for her. It had been too long since they had treated each other as people, rather than colleagues. Yet, if she hadn't been there…he shuddered to think of it. Sucking in a slight breath, Roy reached over and grabbed her hand, a fact which did _not_ go unnoticed by a smirking Havoc. "Well, then, I'm thinking it's time for some change."

"To the police department or…?" Hawkeye began to ask, searching him for an answer.

"For everything," was his response. "It'll be tumultuous, but if it's possible, I'd like everyone to walk this new road with me."

"Come on, chief. Like you need to say anything," Havoc cracked out at him. Knowing he had the man's blessing, he turned to look at Riza. Her eyes were twinkling, smiling as though she knew the decision he'd come to and approved of it.

"Didn't we already promise you we'd go through hell."

"That you did," he chuckled out, and he knew he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

The cameras flashed and popped, blinding anyone foolish enough to look into their lenses. Around the press junket were numerous others, all of them there to watch the press conference. Ed, on the other hand, was sitting safely at home, in front of the television. On either side of him were his wife and brother while his kids, sans Lucas, sat idly on the sides of the couch.

"You really think he'll go through with this?" Al asked, shuffling through the papers that had just arrived yesterday. It had been almost a whole other week since they'd spoken to Mustang in the hospital. In that time, he'd been cleared to leave said hospital, all while making certain inquiries. Ed hadn't been especially privy to what was going on at the police department, but given his conversation with the man now coming onto the screen, he knew that what he was about to say would result in a massive shift.

"He will," Ed answered his brother. "Mustang keeps his word."

"So true. Now, quiet," Winry scolded the both of them. At her words, the room quieted by for the television. Even there, however, the press and crowds were silencing themselves at the commissioner's presence. Mustang stood at a podium, holding all of his usual dignity intact.

"Amestris…is broken," he declared to the crowd. It was far from a conventional way to kick off a press conference, but Ed was certain that it had gotten their attention. "And I don't just mean from the past few weeks or the months since the vigilante, Truth, appeared. Amestris, as a country, was broken long before I even became a cadet in the police academy. It was for that reason that I chose to become a cop. I wanted to change this country. Make it a place of peace and security, because I genuinely love Amestris. I wanted to fix crime-ridden cities like Ishval, remove corruption and inspire others to that same level of lofty ideal. With those dreams, I strove for the position of commissioner.

"But I was a hopelessly naïve fool."

"We all were," Ed muttered under his breath. Shaking his head, however, he returned his focus back to the commissioner, whose statements had caused a cavalcade of surprised comments or outbursts.

"I thought that by reaching higher, I could fix all this country's problems," Mustang continued strongly. "But how can you fix a country that's sick at its core? The only way is by removing the cancer that is infesting it. At that time, sixteen years ago, I believed that I had done just that when I discovered Bradley's involvement in the murder of Maes Hughes. Until it became very clear I hadn't, because he wasn't.

"President Dante was many things, as you've now discovered," Roy said, his words now taking on a very solemn tone. "A leader, a _mother_ , a decision maker…but what she was, what no one could ever see, was a vain manipulator. She once told me that she'd never let two individuals get in the way of her keeping her power. President Dante had planned to blow this country's people up, all to make her look like the hero and leader the people needed when the dust settled. Is it any surprise, then, that her son, the now late Senator Ather, attempted the same?"

Mustang paused, as if letting the meaning of his speech settle in. Ed leaned closer to the screen and noticed something glittering on Mustang's left ring finger, but he passed it off. "When people accrue too much power, they view themselves as morally right, and that kind of thought is dangerous. I pulled that trigger sixteen years ago, but never once viewed myself as the be all and end all. I made a snap decision, choosing to save those who would have died for Dante's ugly and vain ambition. I didn't reveal it, because it would have destabilized the nation, just as they would have wanted.

"It was an evil, perhaps, but at the time, a necessary one. No longer." Those two words once more set the crowd off until Mustang rose a hand to silence them. "These last few weeks have taught me something that I may have forgotten as commissioner: it's people and family that are most important. Not a job or position. I was offered a choice, between loved ones and the job I'd strode after for years. It pains me to admit how conflicted I was. I almost made that wrong choice of preferring my job, a job that would ring hollow if I couldn't protect those people I so loved and trusted.

"Then, someone I trust said something to me: 'This is the end of the road we've walked together'. It was a statement, telling me I could no longer continue down this destructive path. It would only hurt everyone around me, and myself. So, I chose to take a new path, a road to walk that would be fulfilling and still help to keep those I love, safe."

Ed was now at the edge of the couch, staring intently at the screen. Roy inhaled briefly as the press stared at him, before he finally said what he had been building up to. "That is why, effective as of this moment, I am resigning my position as commissioner of the police, and leaving the department entirely."

"What? !" shouted a reporter from the screen. Ed raised his eyebrows and then sat back to watch the chaos unfolding on the television. Winry, on the other hand, stood and called Lizzie and Lucas into the kitchen. "Why are you resigning from the position? Who is to be your successor?"

All these questions and more bombarded the now ex-commissioner, who waited for them to subside before answering any of them. He chose the most important one to answer. "I am going to be succeeded by Chief Olivier Mira Armstrong, pursuant to the Police Department Articles, allowing me to name my successor. Likewise, her brother, Alex Louis Armstrong will be taking the post of Central's chief."

"Commissioner!" cried another reporter, but Al had already shut off the television. He breathed in, once more glancing at the papers in his hands.

"So, he really went through with it…" the younger brother said. "Guess these are just a formality at this point. But…are you sure about this, brother?"

"Yeah," Ed said lazily. "He may annoy me, but Mustang is one of the few people I wouldn't mind going into business with. It's a solid plan."

"How about you _plan_ on helping with dinner, you two," Winry called, poking her head in the room. "There's still a lot to do, and not a lot of time to do it." With a groan, Ed stood and shook his head, preparing to help his wife with dinner.

* * *

"You're sure about this, dumbass?" Roy had to admit that he found Olivier's unveiled insult to be extremely humorous. He turned to her, hoisting his sparsely filled box in his arms. The two of them were standing in his almost near-empty office, the hum of the still clamoring press outside the station.

"Pretty sure," he told the imposing blonde. "I'm leaving the department in good hands, I think. Besides, isn't this what you wanted, Commissioner Armstrong?"

"It is…but I'd have preferred to take it from your cold, dead hands," she admitted coolly. "Certainly didn't see you taking the coward's way out."

"I'm not being a coward," he assured her. His gaze shifted away from the woman and out the window. Part of him still found it hard to believe that he was leaving all of this behind, but at the same time, he knew that it was the right choice. He actually wouldn't miss the Central City skyline. "I'm making a choice to protect the people closest to me. I can no longer do that from the commissioner's chair."

"You're just soft," Olivier commented, folding her arms as she glared at him. "Your men are soft, too, but I'll have them whipped into shape by the end of the month." He had no doubt that she would, even if said end of month was only a couple days away.

"Just make sure the department is still standing when I come to visit," Roy told her, in part a joke, in part a threat. "Now, Senator Lowe will help you through the, likely short, transition phase. I know you're aware of how to deal with the press and everything, but we still want to make sure everything transfers smoothly. Should help that the STONE project is shut down, now."

"Oh, shut up and get your moldy ass out the door already, Mustang!" Olivier snapped, pointing at the door from the office. Roy peered outside it and noticed Rose was still outside. He was grateful that he could help her keep her job. Of course, it was one of his few stipulations when naming Olivier as commissioner, alongside Alex remaining on the force as chief.

"Well, then, good luck, commissioner," Mustang said to her, holding out a free hand whilst balancing his box. Olivier scoffed, but took it anyway.

"You, too, dumbass," she spat. Roy was about to pull away when he saw Olivier's gaze shifting to his other hand. "What's with the jewelry?"

"Just something a couple decades overdue. Take care!" Roy told her with a chuckle. He finally retracted his hand and began to leave the office. As he passed by Rose, he offered a nod to the woman. Just as he was about to fully leave, Olivier's voice rang out once more.

"I don't want to see you in my office again, Mustang! And Rose, I need paperwork on-" He slammed the door shut, no longer able to hear any more. Chuckling to himself, Mustang finally left the commissioner's office behind and made his way to the lobby. Standing there were Hawkeye and Armstrong, the former also with a box in her arms.

"Breda and Feury gone ahead, then?" he asked. Armstrong gave him a sudden salute; the last one he would give to him. Meanwhile, Riza just shifted her box. He had to admit how different it was, seeing her with her hair down in civilian clothing, now with a ring glittering on her finger.

"They went to get Havoc. Said they'll meet us at the Elrics," she told him. Roy nodded, and the couple turned to face Armstrong. The man looked to be holding back tears.

"Well, Armstrong, looks like the rest is up to you," he told the hulking man. "Since Falman's coming back to Central, at least you won't be alone. And we'll still be in contact."

"Of course, sir," Armstrong sniffled out. Roy watched him a moment with a very soft smile. Then, in a move that he should have expected, Armstrong lunged forward and picked the both of them up in his arms for a bone-crushing hug. "Take care! I'll protect your legacy, just as I protect the Armstrong legacy passed down for generations!"

"Th-thanks…" the charcoal-haired man gasped out. After a minute, Armstrong released them, wiping the tears from his eyes. Once more, Roy smiled at him before both patted him on the shoulder and made their move to leave, replete with people waving, Armstrong waved back until they'd left the station entirely. Neither said a word as they skirted the press and got into their car. Only once they hit the highway did Riza begin to say anything.

"The certificate arrived today," she told him, digging into her box for the large manila envelope. "Everything's in order and approved."

"Good to know, Mrs. Mustang," Roy said, a smirk angling in his wife's direction. Riza laughed as she took out the certificate that proved their marriage as certified. Gliding along the highway, he felt a certain sense of elation flood into his veins. Quitting the police was just one of the things he was changing in his life. Now free from that burden, he had chosen to pursue one of the other things in his life that he had longed for: Riza, herself. It hadn't been some elaborate proposal; more an agreement that it was finally time to wed. Now, he was barreling towards the final change in his life. "Really not looking forward to Ed's reaction when he finds out we're married."

"I'd be more worried about Winry's than Ed's," she told him.

He couldn't argue with that. In fact, that became the preeminent thought in his mind as they finished their trip to Resembool, the sun slowly setting on the horizon. The lights inside the Elric house were already on and Roy could see that everyone appeared to have already arrived, cramming into the kitchen or living room. The newlywed couple, trying to keep their rings as hidden as possible, exited the car and began to make their way to the front door, knocking on it. Moments later, it opened, revealing the form of Eddie as he chewed on some corn.

"They're here!" he called into the house. "Hey, Mr. Mustang, Miss Hawkeye, we've been waiting for you."

"Thanks, Eddie," Roy said, clapping the boy on his shoulder. Eddie nodded, closing and locking the door behind them. It was a little strange, how familiar Eddie seemed with them. Roy almost had to wonder if Ed or Al had regaled them with tales of their adventures over the past week or two.

"Ah! Uncle Roy!" Elicia's voice called out. The young woman ran at him from the end of the hallway, suddenly embracing him. When she drew back, Roy could see how tanned she looked. "Sorry, but mom and Jonathan couldn't be here tonight. But you'll come over for dinner this weekend, right?"

"Of course. We'll both be there," he said, indicating himself and Riza. Elicia smiled at the idea and bounced back to help Winry in the kitchen. He was glad she could still be happy, even with the loss that had likely shaken the Drake family.

"Why don't you come in here, for now?" Ed's voice shouted. Roy shook his head at the abrasive blond's words, but followed them nonetheless, stepping over to the living room. Sure enough, Breda, Feury and Havoc were already there, huddled around a stack of paper. They looked up at his entrance.

"Pretty daunting idea you have here, boss," Breda said, the burly man lifting the packet for a second. "It won't be easy, you know, even if we have Armstrong as a contact."

"Please, Breda, things were never easy!" Havoc snarked out, motioning down at his legs, hanging off the wheelchair edges. "I mean, I'm stuck in this thing until I'm done with physical therapy, and that's harder than any sort of business venture. Besides, at least this way, we'll all stick together, and I can answer phone calls, too."

"You're stupidly optimistic, Hav," Breda told him. Mustang quirked an eyebrow at him as Havoc snarked back. Behind him, Riza was clearly making her way over to greet Winry in the kitchen. Feury remained silent, but contemplative, for a moment.

"I suppose it does fit us, now that we've left the force," he finally said, as if giving his blessing. Mustang continued to look at Breda, who eventually sighed and nodded his head. At last, Ed clapped his hands together.

"All right, then, let's get these papers signed!" he said with gusto, grabbing the packet and signing his name. Al quickly signed his before immediately leaving for the kitchen. One by one, all of them checked the documents out and signed their names, including Riza. Only when Roy finished signing his own, sealing the deal, did he have a feeling of intense exultation.

"That's that, then," Breda said with a grin. "The new chapter of all our lives."

"Hopefully a good one, huh?" Ed said with his own flashing grin. "Break out the champagne, Winry! Tomorrow, the Fullmetal and Flame Private Investigators goes into business!"

"Congratulations," Winry's voice called from the kitchen. "First, let's have dinner, though. Families should eat before celebrating."

"I hear that! Wheel me over, Feury!"

"Why me…?" Feury asked, but he obliged Havoc nonetheless. Breda just laughed after them. Roy was the last to leave the room, taking a look at the papers on the table. Before he could turn back to the kitchen, Ed poked his head in the room.

"You joining us, Roy?" he said, a light smirk on his lips. Roy breathed in.

"Of course," he said. A smile overtook his features, truly cracking around his lips as elation and joy settled into him. He quickly followed after Ed to the scene of the jubilant dinner.

Roy Mustang had found peace and happiness, at last.

 _Fín_

* * *

 **Author's Note: So…the end. After a very long time, a little over four years, this project has been complete. It's been a long road, but to those who walked with me until the end, thank you very much. I know there aren't a lot of you left from my early days of TO CATCH A KILLER but really, for those of you that are, I've appreciated your reviews immensely. This has been a joy to write. Now, before you ask, no, there will not be a single continuation. This was as far as my mind took me. Could there be little adventures? Sure. But nothing on the scale I began with and I just don't want to dive back into it. That's not to say I'll stop writing, though my time in the FMA fandom is over. You'll pretty much find me writing Pokémon stories from now on until my next work is complete and I'm done.**

 **Now, let's clean up some of these loose ends. Yes, Roy quit, which I always knew, but he was still able to save both. This whole thing was him realizing it was time to walk away. Likewise, Roy and Riza married. Originally, I was going to have a ceremony, until I realized that it wasn't them and I nixed the idea. Thus, we have this. I hope it works for you, just as much as the idea of them opening a private investigation agency does. That subtlety is the same reason I avoided Winry's and Ed's reactions, leaving them to your imagination.**

 **In any case, allow me to extend one last round of thanks to all of you on this wonderful ride. One more time, I'll ask you to Review, and as always, now and forever,**

 **Dare to Be Silly,**

 **Epicocity**


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